City of Lies
by Rowen-Bells
Summary: Now that Jace got Clary to stay in New York . . . what can go wrong? **CoG in Jace's POV . . . If you have not read City of the Unknown and City of Heartache, you may want to**
1. Prologue

_**AN:** So I asked and you guys answered! Something I am so extremely thankful for! I've been working on this for a little bit, but between the reviews and PM's I thought I'd at least post a start to show you all that I've been listening! So I hope you enjoy! If you're new to my stories, you might want to start at City of the Unknown followed by City of Heartache first. And as always, a huge thank you to my readers! You guys contain so much awesome, it's ridiculous. Also, a monumental thank you to OrangeFizZ44 for being so incredibly encouraging and helpful and patient. Words cannot describe how much I appreciate it! _

_As always, please let me know what you think!_

* * *

 **~ Prologue ~**

Have you ever wished that your life was different?

Not that you had someone else's life, per se . . . but that your own life was just different somehow? That _you_ were different somehow. Maybe you'd be richer or have more friends. Or maybe you want to be the smartest person in the world—or the best looking.

Or maybe you'd just opt for something simple.

Something easy.

Like having a sister who wasn't a sister so that it was acceptable to be in love with her.

Jace knew he sure would.

Not long after getting Clary's text, he also got word that the Clave had called for all able bodied Shadowhunters to Alicante. The Lightwoods especially. Something he thought would transpire, and had already resigned himself to. And now he was waiting in the entryway for Clary to arrive. _Something's happened,_ she had said. _Something big._ Jace hated himself immediately for having thought that maybe she had changed her mind—that she didn't want him to be her brother anymore than he wanted to be, but that she wanted him to be something more. Something he shouldn't be. But for someone who had promised to only be her brother . . . it was a very unbrotherly thought. Running his fingers through his hair, he leaned against the wall and stared at the elevator with nervous tension. It had started to rise.

"Jace?"

Jace looked to his left as Izzy approached him. He gave a half-hearted smile. "What's up?" But before she could answer, the elevator rumbled to a stop and Clary had pulled the gates open. The sight of her so soon hit him like a mac truck. She was still just as beautiful as she had been earlier. And he was still just as screwed. He had never been so thankful for his ability to maintain his composure. Her green eyes were wide as she looked between him and Isabelle, and Jace pushed himself off the wall, turning to his sister. Not his actual sister—but . . . his _other_ sister— _by the Angel this is going to get confusing._ "Did you need something, Iz?"

Isabelle was staring at Clary with what Jace was surprised to see was a mixture of irritation and longing. Longing for what, he didn't quite know. Shaking her head with a jerk, she met Jace's eyes. "Did you have anything you wanted washed before we leave?"

"Where are you guys going?" Clary asked, and Jace raised a brow curiously as Isabelle closed her own eyes, seeming to take a breath. She also didn't answer Clary's question. Since when did they stop getting along? But when Izzy opened her eyes again, she looked straight as Jace.

"Well?" She asked impatiently.

Jace shook his head. "No, Iz. Thanks though."

With that she walked off, not acknowledging Clary's presence at all. Something Clary noticed right away. "What was that about?"

Jace forced a smile. "Someone washed her wool cardigan." And when Clary just stared at him with incredulity, Jace couldn't help but counter with mock despair. "Do you have any idea what happens to wool that has not been cleaned properly? The horror!"

"Well, I wasn't the one who washed it," said Clary pointedly as she stared down the corridor in which Isabelle had disappeared. "Don't know why she's taking it out on me."

"Oh, that's where you're wrong," Jace grinned. "When it comes to Isabelle and her clothes, everyone is to blame and no one is above her wrath." Even as he said it, he had no idea why he was lying for her. What he _did_ know, was that sooner or later Izzy would have to explain what the hell her sudden problem with Clary was.

But Clary only nodded at the explanation. "Makes sense. Actually, I'm glad I wasn't here when she found it."

"As you should be." Jace said logically, crossing his arms and looking at her without trying to look at her. Her emerald eyes glanced back up at him, and she could see the question burning in them. _Might as well tell her before she asks again._ "We're going to Idris. The Clave has called us all there—all Shadowhunters, anyway," he amended, seeing the look on her face. _Not you._ _Don't even think about it—why are you smiling? Stop._

But she didn't stop smiling. "That works out perfectly!"

Jace shook his head. "You do realize that when I say the Clave called all Shadowhunters . . . I meant . . ." _Not you._ The last thing he needed was for Clary to be in Alicante, near the Clave. The questions they would ask her—the things they would make her do . . .

But Clary only rolled her eyes. "I'm sure I knew what you meant, but listen. After I left Taki's, I decided to go visit my mom—"

"Decided?" Jace cut in. "I thought you had to meet Luke somewhere?"

"He was still busy," Clary said absently, waving her hand. "But Madeleine was there! At the hospital, I mean."

Jace stared at her, trying to remember who Madeleine was. And then it hit him. "Shadowhunter, silver hair, was with Malik when I jumped off the roof of the Institute—tried stopping me?"

"Stopped Malik from stopping us," Clary corrected. _Whatever._ "And yes, that was her. She . . . she came to the hospital to tell me that she knows how to wake my mother! I guess she left Madeleine instructions should Valentine ever return. . ."

Jace stared at Clary with unease. "And what were these instructions?"

Beaming, Clary began to tell him about how she needed to seek out a warlock by the name of Ragnor Fell. _Nope_. How he had made Jocelyn a potion that would render her unconscious and that he was the only one who would be able to revive her. _Nope, definitely not._ That this particular warlock could be found in Idris— _oh, fuck no_ —where he had lived for over a hundred years since becoming a teacher at the Shadowhunter Academy. But it wasn't until Clary added that it had to be her—that this warlock would be expecting her—that Jace could physically feel the blood draining from his face. She wanted to go to Idris—to Alicante. To the Clave. _You can't!_ He wouldn't let her anywhere near the Clave! _Not now. Not ever._

It was a second before Jace realized she had stopped talking and was staring at him with her wide Idris eyes, a light frown tugging on her lips. He was shaking his head in horror. "You're not going." He said with such firm venom that Clary took a nearly imperceptible step away from him. He didn't care. _I wont let you. I won't let the Clave near you._ "If I have to tie you up and sit on you until this insane whim of yours passes, you are not going to Idris."

Chomping down on his cheek, Jace's stomach plummeted helplessly as she stared at him as if he had slapped her, and he had to close his eyes to keep from seeing it. She didn't understand— _of course she didn't. You haven't told her._ _But the Clave . . ._ he opened his eyes, meeting hers . . . _they'll use you. Treat you like an experiment. I can't allow it—I won't allow it._ Clary was tugging on her curls, her eyes bright as she glared at him, her initial happiness dampened by his foul reaction.

"But you're going." She finally said, and Jace swallowed hard.

"Yes, we're going." Seeing her lips pull into a razor thin line, he continued on hastily. "But we _have_ to go." Didn't she understand that? Him, the Lightwoods—they had been called upon. Clary, on the other hand, had not. She didn't have to go anywhere. She could stay here with Luke, where it was safe. Jace swallowed. "The Clave's called every active Clave member who can be spared back to Idris for a massive council meeting about Valentine, and since we're the last people who've seen him—"

But Clary was already shaking her head, her fiery curls bouncing on her shoulders in a way that made his body flush in a very infelicitous fashion. "If you're going, why can't I go with you?"

God, she was stubborn! It was one of the things he loved and hated about her. But he just couldn't right now—didn't she get that? "Because it isn't safe for you there!" he snapped. _Not with the Clave there. Not with Valentine possibly being there._

"Oh and it's so safe here?" She threw hands up angrily, her eyes burning with emerald fires. "I've nearly been killed a dozen times in the past month, and every time it's been right here in New York."

 _Don't you think I know that?_ He thought wretchedly. _Don't you think it hasn't nearly killed me every single time?_ But he couldn't tell her that. And the fact that he couldn't tell her that only incensed him further. He sucked his breath in through his teeth. "That's because Valentine's been concentrating on the two Mortal Instruments that were here. He's going to shift his focus to Idris now, we all know it—"

"We're hardly as certain of anything as all that," spoke a familiar voice, and Jace closed his eyes, desperately trying to calm himself. It was Maryse. "And the Clave want's to meet Clarissa," she continued. "You know that Jace."

"The Clave can screw itself." _Among other things._ They wouldn't get Clary. _Not her._ But when he opened his eyes, he saw that Maryse looked amused as she moved toward them, stopping only a foot or so away and regarding Clary with curiosity. The same curiosity the Clave would show, he was sure.

"Jace," Maryse said absently, turning her deep blue eyes back to him, her tone maternal. "Language."

Jace blanched, looking at the woman he had wanted for so long to think of as his mother. Chewing on his cheek, he stared between her and Clary. _Not her._ _Please don't let her go._ He raked his fingers through his short hair. "The Clave wants a lot of things," Jace said with a hint of accusation and looking directly at Maryse. _Remember? They wanted me. And we all saw how well that turned out._ He knew it was a low blow, but he was desperate. "It shouldn't necessarily get them all." He stared, unfazed, when she glowered at him.

But then Maryse shook her head. "The Clave is often right, Jace. It's not unreasonable for them to want to talk to Clary, after what she's been through. What she could tell them—"

"I'll tell them whatever they want to know." Jace said to Maryse while capturing Clary's Idris eyes. _I promise._ But Maryse simply sighed, and Jace shook his head. _Not her._ And yet, he already knew what her answer was going to be—could see it in her eyes as she swept her gaze back to the short red headed girl that was both the love of his life and the bane of his existence.

"So you want to go to Idris, I take it?" Maryse asked Clary with the same professional politeness she reserved for visiting Shadowhunters. Not that Clary noticed or cared. Nor did she seem to notice Jace standing there shaking his head with enough force to cause whiplash—even though she was looking right at him, her own head nodding. _Clary, I swear to the Angel—_

"Just for a few days," Clary pleaded as her eyes slid past him. Jace tasted blood as he bit down hard to keep from screaming. Judging by the sudden flush of her face and the way she stammered her next words, however, he knew she was aware of his anger. "I won't be any trouble. I swear."

 _Wrong. So fucking wrong. You will be trouble—whether you mean to be or not._ But he didn't say that. He didn't say anything as he stared at Clary with both rage and such a sickening panic that he thought he might throw up. _You can't go. You won't . . . I can't let you._ It was a moment before he realized that Maryse was responding to Clary, and he tried to focus on her. "—the question is whether you'll be willing to meet with the Clave while you're there. They want to talk to you. If you say no, I doubt we can get the authorization to bring you with us."

Jace shook his head. Or maybe he had never stopped shaking his head. Either way, "No—"

"I'll meet with the Clave."

Jace felt as if he'd been plunged into arctic waters and yet Maryse only sighed and rubbed at her temples. "Then it's settled." _No. It's not._ The outer rim of his sight went black, capturing Clary in some kind of tunnel vision. He would have to think of something . . . a way to keep her in New York. She wasn't going. There was no way he was letting her— "Jace," Maryse continued, "show Clary out and then come see me in the library. I need to talk to you."

He chewed on his cheek as he gave a sharp nod. And then he watched Maryse turn and walk away, lost in thought. Once she was gone, Jace cast a venomous glare at Clary. "Now look at what you've done."

But Clary only stared back defiantly. "I need to go to Idris, even if you can't understand why," she crossed her arms, her body rigid. "I need to do this for my mother."

 _'My mother'._ This was the second time she had used those words. _Not 'our mother'._ He quickly shook away the thought, staring at her. And he did understand—better than she realized. Jace knew how important Jocelyn was to Clary, despite the fact that she had lied to her. To both of them. But he also knew what Clary didn't—something he may or may not have told her: No one but the people on the truck bed that night, knew about the rune that destroyed the ship. It had become something of an unspoken agreement between Jace and Luke. Because like him, the pack leader knew what would happen if the Clave ever learned of what Clary could do. As for Simon, Jace wasn't too worried the vampire would say anything to anyone. Who the hell did he know besides Clary anyway? In fact the boy could use more friends. Maryse on the other hand . . . .

"Maryse trusts the Clave too much," Jace said, his voice hollow as he stared back down the corridor. "She has to believe they're perfect, and I can't tell her they aren't, because—" he cut himself off, his father flashing before his eyes as he glanced nervously back at Clary. Because—

"Because that's something Valentine would say," she finished the thought for him without a trace of judgment, but more with understanding.

Jace looked away, his heart twisting as he stabbed the elevator button. "No one's perfect." He listened to the clang of the lift as it rumbled to life. "Not even the Clave."

"Is that really why you don't want me to come?" Clary demanded suddenly. "Because it isn't safe?"

 _Of course it is. What other reason—?_ Jace couldn't hide his surprise, the question having caught him off guard and momentarily stemming his anger. Clary's arms were crossed tightly and she looked both agitated and . . . something else. "What do you mean?" He asked when she didn't elaborate. And why was she staring at him like that? "Why else wouldn't I want you to come?"

A shadow crossed Clary's face, a pained look in her shining emerald eyes. "Because—" She hesitated, and Jace swallowed hard. _Because why?_ Since he wasn't about to tell her his real reason for wanting her to stay, he could only imagine what other reasons she might be coming up with. And then without knowing how, he was sure he already knew. _Because I promised to be your brother—a promise I've made and broken before—and could easily break again. Because you want to be my sister and nothing more and maybe you think that the last thing I want is to see you every time I turn around . . . reminding me that . . ._

He used it.

"Because I don't want my little sister following me everywhere?"

Clary's breath hitched and she looked away quickly. Not quick enough. Jace saw the hurt his words had caused her and instantly regretted saying them. Biting the inside of his cheek, the elevator rang out its arrival and Clary pushed past him silently and pulled open the gate. Jace wanted desperately to grab her and stop her and apologize and swear that he didn't mean what he had said. But he couldn't. Not this time. He absolutely loathed himself for it—for hurting her—but what choice had he been left with? He had to protect her. _I will protect you, even if it means making you hate me._

Jace tried to capture her eyes but she refused, staring studiously forward as she stepped into the elevator. Turning slowly, her shoulders rigid with tension, Clary finally cast a pained look back at him. "I'm not going because you'll be there," she said, her words wavering as her throat constricted. _Please don't cry,_ he thought with dismay, his fists clenching tightly. Her tears were like crashing waves to him, knocking him over and drowning him. He would do anything to keep them from falling. "I'm going because I want to help my mother. Our mother," she continued, her voice cracking and her eyes swimming. And it took Jace everything he had to keep from grabbing her and comforting her. He silently dug his heels into the floor. _Please . . . please don't do this._ "I have to help her. Don't you get it?" _I do, Clary . . . I really do, but—_ "If I don't do this, she might never wake up." And then she shook her head sadly with disappointment. "You could at least pretend you care a little bit."

 _But I do care you stupid beautiful mundane Shadowhunter—Fuck!_

Jace's resolve broke, his hands darting out of their own accord and gripping her shoulders. He could feel the heat of her body against his palms and the silk of her skin under his fingertips as he brushed them past her shirt collar. He had to bite down on his cheek as the soft touch shot a current of electricity up his arm. Clary's eyes went wide as he took a small step forward, invading her personal space and leaving only inches between them. And when he spoke, his voice was soft, pleading, urgent. "Let me do it," he begged. "I can help her for you." _I would do anything for you._ "Tell me where to go, who to ask." _Please don't go, Clary. Please. Stay here. For me._ "I'll get you what you need." _I promise. By the Angel, I promise . . . I will do this if you just—_

"Madeleine told the warlock I'd be the one coming," she sighed. "He'll be expecting Jocelyn's daughter, not Jocelyn's son."

Jace's body twitched involuntarily at her words— _I don't care what he's expecting!_ —his grip on her tightened. "So tell her there was a change of plans," he pleaded. _Please. Please do this._ "I'll be going, not you. _Not you."_

"Jace—"

But he wasn't listening to reason anymore. Because nothing she said was even remotely reasonable. Dropping his head so that he was level with her, he looked beseechingly into the eyes that reminded him of a warm country meadow. Slowly, he moved his hands up her shoulders and cupped her neck, his thumbs grazing her jawline. "I'll do whatever," he took an unsteady breath. "Whatever you want—" J _ust not this. Anything but this._ "—so long as you promise to stay here." _I would bend over backwards to make you happy, Clary. But I will kill myself to keep you safe. Please._

"I can't."

The words were whispered—soft, even—but they packed a punch. Jace felt himself stumbling backward, his hands flying to his head as panic and hysteria consumed him, "Why not?"

"Because she's my mother," implored Clary.

"And mine," he shot back irritably, crossing his arms. "In fact, why didn't Madeleine approach both of us about this? Why just you?"

"You know why."

The words were like a knife through his heart. But when he spoke, his tone was as soft as a feather lined with ice. "Because to her you're Jocelyn's daughter. But I'll always be Valentine's son." Clary's eyes went wide with pity. He hated pity. Especially from her. Reaching out, he snagged the elevator gate and slammed it closed.

"Jace—"

But whatever she was going to say, had been drowned out by Jace as he jabbed the button savagely to send her down.

Once the elevator was out of sight, he took a step back. And then another one. There was no way she was going to Idris—no way he was going to allow the Clave to talk to her—to use her. He would think of something. He had to. He would stop her. But he would need help. He would need someone Clary would listen to— _since she's not listening to me._ Fishing his phone out of his pocket, Jace scrolled through it until he found the number he wanted. But then he hesitated as he stared at the name of the last person he ever thought he'd call for help.

No. Simon was definitely more of a last resort.

Slowly, he turned his phone over in his hands. Besides, it would do him well to wait and get more information first. That way he could be sure. Not to mention that if Jace called him now, before he knew all the details, the vampire might tell Clary. But then Simon might just tell her anyway, even with all the facts. _Because he's an asshole._ So there was that.

Staring back down at his phone, he scrolled up to another number and hit the call button.

It was picked up on the first ring.

"Magnus? It's Jace."

"You don't say?" Came the warlocks voice. "And here when I saw your name flash across my screen, I thought it might just be a typo and that it was really the Pope calling me back. Disappointing really. You see, I did him a bit of a favor awhile back and—"

"I get it," Jace said cutting him off, not in the mood. "Look, I need your help."

"Of course you do."

It was all Magnus said, but Jace hesitated briefly at hearing the resignation in the warlocks tone. He didn't hesitate long, the words rushing from his mouth. "Clary wants to go to Idris."

"So?"

"So it would be bad," Jace practically shouted into the receiver, before forcing himself to take a calming breath. "If she goes, the Clave is going to want to talk to her and . . . and they'll find out."

"Find out what?" Magnus sounded bored. "Oh, that she destroyed the ship with her uncanny ability?"

"You know about that?" Jace sputtered. But he gathered himself quickly as he paced in front of the elevator, his eyes darting around to make sure no one was nearby listening in.

"Of course I know," Magnus said with a tone suggesting that Jace should have realized this as well. "At least I had guessed. Especially after hearing the ridiculous alternative of an Infernal Conversion gone wrong. Valentine is evil, yes, but not stupid."

Jace's stomach twisted nervously. "Have you told anyone?" he demanded. "Have you told Alec?" The resulting silence was so long that Jace checked his phone to make sure the line hadn't gone dead before placing it back to his ear. "Magnus—"

"Alec and I have not spoken since the night on the East River." The warlocks tone was clipped. "And no one else has inquired, so no . . . the topic hasn't come up. Out of curiosity however, what did she use to do it?"

Now it was Jace's turn to pause. He knew he would have to tell Magnus the truth, but that also meant one more person knowing, regardless of whether the warlock had already guessed or not. And then he remembered Clary in the ship, drawing the rune that would destroy it, and Jace knew he needed help. He couldn't let the Clave take her. "The Rune of Opening," he finally admitted miserably. On the other end of the line he heard Magnus echo his words softly.

"But a Rune of Opening is not capable—ah . . ." the warlock trailed off as Jace sunk further into despair. "She amplified it. Changed it."

"Yes." Jace breathed wretchedly. "So you understand now why she can't go—what the Clave would do to her if—if they find out."

"I imagine she would be a curiosity to them," Magnus mused. "Much like you will be."

"I can handle myself," Jace said tersely. "But Clary, she—" he chomped down on his cheek as he imagined Clary, her fiery red curls and emerald eyes, stubbornly standing in the Accords hall, surrounded by Council members who were staring at her like a spider would a fly. He couldn't let that happen! "—is there anyway that you can keep her from going? A spell of binding you can cast?"

"You want me—" Magnus began slowly, "—a downworlder—to perform a binding spell? On a Shadowhunter?"

Jace swallowed. "Yes."

Another long pause. And then, "Sorry, but getting myself in trouble with the Clave is not exactly at the top of my list of things to do right now, buttercup. But I'm sure you can understand that." And the truth was, Jace _did_ understand. But that didn't mean he had to like it—and was even prepared to argue it, despite the finality in Magnus's tone, when the warlock spoke again. "Look," he said pityingly and Jace jerked his head irritably. "I feel for you—I do. Clary is the first human I have ever watched grow up, so call it a parental desire to protect her—which is more than I can say for you and your reasons—but, you just have to accept that she's going."

Jace chewed on his cheek, his hand shaking as it held his phone tightly to his ear. "So you wont help her?"

"I won't help _you."_

Jace hung up, squeezing his phone hard enough to hear a crack. Loosing his grip, he shoved it back in his pocket. He would think of something. He would . . . _Not her._ Turning, he raked both hands roughly through his hair and headed down the corridor that lead to the library. She wasn't going. He would stop her somehow. There had to be a way—something that might keep her here. Because there was one thing he was certain of.

 _Clary was not going._

* * *

 ** _Please Review!_**


	2. Accidents Happen

**~ Chapter One ~**  
 **Accidents Happen**

Talking to Maryse had been trying for Jace. He knew the moment he entered the Library, that his anger had not abetted in the least. Not at all. So it should have come as no surprise to him when he completely lost his temper upon seeing the Lightwood matriarch sitting at the large desk, reading something stamped with the Clave Seal

"How could you let her go?" He demanded, slapping his hands on the desk angrily. "How could you make her promise to talk to the Clave?"

"Jace," Maryse said softly but sternly without looking up. She was obviously not surprised by his outburst either. "You know how important it is that she goes. What happened on the East River with Valentine, the demons—"

"I remember quite clearly what happened on the East River," Jace snapped.

"Exactly," Maryse said with a nod, setting the paper down with infuriating calmness. "Because _you_ were down there with him. _You_ spoke to Valentine. But so did Clary. She was alone with him—" Jace kicked himself for having told her that part. "Think of what she might be able to tell the Clave. If Valentine is making a plan—"

 _"Bullshit!"_ shouted Jace. "You did this for you! Because _you_ want to get back into the good graces of the Clave by handing them _both_ of Valentine's children."

At that, Maryse rose to her feet, her eyes flashing dangerously to his. "I am _trying,"_ she began, her voice like taut wire, "to find a way to stop Valentine—something I _thought_ you wanted too. And besides, I would think that as Clarissa is your sister, you would want her there."

 _You thought wrong._ But he didn't say that. He didn't say anything. Instead, he kicked a chair and sent it crashing loudly into a book shelf before spinning around . . . and getting brought up short by Isabelle. She was standing there staring at him, her eyes wide. He hadn't heard her enter. Biting the inside of his cheek, he said nothing as he stormed out of the Library, shoving past his sister as he went.

The next couple days were a fucking mess. Clary had tried calling him, but Jace had refused to answer. Not that it mattered. She had turned to Alec as a go-between instead, making plans with the Lightwoods through him. Jace had not been happy about this. Nor was he surprised when his _parabatai_ informed him that Luke wasn't happy about it either. Not that he could tell Alec that.

But It wasn't until the night before they were supposed to leave, that he began to really start losing it. He only had until tomorrow evening to come up with a way of stopping her, and had no ideas yet. Well, there was one . . . and he paced his room, contemplating how much trouble he would actually get in if he did, in fact, tie her up and sit on her; when a knock came at the door. Jace had just reached for the handle when the door was pushed opened cautiously and a set of deep blue eyes and dark shaggy hair peeked around at him. It was Alec.

"Hey," his friend said awkwardly. And Jace knew it was because he had been none to nice toward his _parabatai_ since he allied with Clary—something Alec still swore he had only done at his mothers behest. All the same, Jace raised an annoyed brow at him as Alec pushed the door open further, standing up straight. "They changed the time we're leaving tomorrow to noon. They want to have the Council meeting that following morning, and if we leave at midnight as planned, they think we'll be too exhausted from the time change to sit in on it."

Jace's eyes narrowed suspiciously at his brother. "They want us to leave at noon," he spoke slowly, "so that we get there at six in the evening and have time to rest before the meeting the next morning?"

"Yeah." _Because that doesn't sound suspicious as fuck._ But when Jace said nothing, Alec continued. "Anyway, I'm getting ready to go let Clary know. Is there anything you want me to tell her?"

Jace frowned. Alec had taken to asking him this every time he went to go see Clary, and usually he said no. But this time, he just stared at his brother as if he had just been offered a beacon of hope. "We're leaving in the afternoon?" he echoed, and Alec nodded. "And you're getting ready to . . . to tell Clary?" Alec nodded again. _Which means you haven't yet. Which means there's still time . . ._ "I'll tell her," he said making up his mind. Striding to his closet, he pulled out his new leather jacket and shrugged it on. It still didn't feel right. But Alec only stared at him, biting down on his lip nervously.

"Jace—"

"Look, I get it. She's coming," Jace cut him off striding to his nightstand and plucking out his stele and a pen. He also grabbed a Sensor, attaching one to his belt next to the angel blade and shoving the other two in his pocket. "And I get that I haven't exactly been quiet about the fact that I don't want her there. But whether I like it or not, she's coming. So, I think I should talk to her . . . apologize or something. Maybe that way it will be less awkward for all of us." When Jace made to move past him, Alec placed a light hand on his shoulder and Jace was forced to meet his brother's eyes—stormy blue when he was troubled or unsure. _Please, Alec._ Jace shook his head. "It has to be me that tells her. It'll be a sign of good faith." His brother's grip tightened momentarily, before he let go and gestured to the door. Relieved, Jace bolted out of his room, down the hall, and practically dived into the elevator before anyone else could stop him.

He would protect Clary.

Come hell or high water . . . he would keep her out of Idris.

Jace moved quickly through the streets of New York, thanking the glamours as the mundanes moved around him. In his pocket, the demon sensor remained inactive, humming only once on the subway, but going silent almost as quickly. Not that he was paying much attention to it. In fact, it almost seemed as if they rarely ever used the Sensor's anymore, anyway. And then he thought of Clary and how pissed she was going to be. Because the truth was that he had no intention of telling her about the time change. None at all. But just as he had known before that he would need help—he knew he would need it now. Even if it meant using his last resort.

He knew, for the most part, where Simon lived—though he had never actually been to his house. Isabelle had been over there a couple times since everything had happened, though, and he had gotten a fairly good idea of where he was going. Just to be sure, he texted Izzy requesting the vampire's address with the lame explanation that Clary was there. He was pretty sure Alec would have told her what he was doing by now anyway. The reply she had sent back simply stated: _Of course she is,_ along with the vampire's address. The house was easy enough to find after that. There was a light on inside, and Jace crossed the porch in a single stride as he removed his glamour and knocked confidently on the door. It was answered by a tiny bird-like woman; her dark hair streaked with grey and a ragged house gown hanging from her small frame. But her eyes . . . they were Simon's eyes. And they widened at seeing Jace standing there under the glow of the porch light.

Jace smiled at her. "Hello, Ms. Lewis," he said confidently but with just enough humility that she instantly returned his smile. "Sorry for the late night call, but I'm a friend of Simon's and I was wondering if I could speak with him?"

"You're a friend of my son's?" She asked, not bothering to hide her surprise. Jace nearly laughed. _I know right? Hard as that is to believe._ He continued to smile politely.

"Yes, but where are my manners?" He added sheepishly. "I'm Jace. Jace Way—genstern." He cringed inwardly. _What the fuck was that?_

Simon's mother caught the slip instantly, her eyes narrowing. "Waygenstern?"

"Yes, ma'am," Jace nodded sincerely, going with it.

"I don't think he's ever mentioned you," she said suspiciously.

"Really?" Jace asked frowning, his voice taking on an injured tone. "Well . . . I did just join his band yesterday. Guess he hasn't gotten around to talking about me yet—so I shouldn't be too hurt, I suppose. But I really needed to ask him about one of the songs—"

"Oh, you're a band singer mate person." Ms. Lewis shook her head as if realizing how ridiculous that had sounded. "I mean, you're in his band with him." Jace nodded. "You know, I think he did mention you," she said, staring at him fully now. Jace seriously doubted that, but was appreciative of the fact that she was trying to spare his feeling, even if it was unnecessary. "Unfortunately," she continued, "he's not here right now. Want me to let him know you stopped by?"

Jace thought about it for a minute. _To risky._ Clary might be with the vampire when he returned. Shaking his head no, he thanked her for her help—knowing full well that she would tell Simon he had been there anyway. Moving around the house, he re-glamoured himself and began looking through windows. He felt like a creepy peeper. The type whose ass Jace would kick if he ever caught one trying to peek through his own windows—or anyone else's. _"You see what you have me doing?"_ he mumbled to no one in general, but seeing a stubborn green eyed redhead in the back of his mind. Luckily, it only took three windows before he found what had to be Simon's room. The blinds were open, giving Jace a view of an untidy rumpled bed, a wall covered in posters, and clothes strewn across the floor. Clothes that had stupid phrases and comments that were supposed to be witty. Pulling out a piece of paper and the pen, he jotted down a request that the vampire meet him in the morning. Using his stele, he glamoured it just in case the Simon's mother came in, and then stuck it in the center of the window, knowing the vampire would see it.

It was all he could do.

He was exhausted when he got back to the Institute.

Falling into bed, he awaited the restless sleep that he had grown used to.

The next morning was a blur of motions and movements. Jace woke out of his fitful sleep with knots in his stomach as he wondered if Simon would show up. And he barely ate as they finished packing and sending their things ahead. They were going to be staying with the Penhallows while they were in Alicante. They were nice people, relaxed for Shadowhunters. He and Aline (their daughter) had once gotten lost in the Brocelind Forest, something Jace was sure at the time would get him yelled at by Maryse. But Aline never told anyone. She had just been happy to be out and back in Alicante. Even now, Jace wouldn't necessarily say they had gotten lost, so to speak . . . but merely misdirected. He had known where they had been the whole time. _Keep telling yourself that, dumb ass._ Not that it mattered. They had both been children then.

Outside in his black leather Shadowhunter gear, Jace leaned against a shaded wall just as Magnus rounded the corner. Jace froze. He hadn't spoke to the warlock since the night he had called him, but now that he was there— _What the shit are you wearing?_ Jace cocked a brow, utterly distracted as he ogled the warlock, whose bright splatter-painted shirt was only a smidgen looser than the skin tight rainbow colored leather pants he wore. Magnus grinned and curtseyed mockingly, his spiked hair shimmering in the sun, and Jace smirked at the gesture. He wasn't surprised that Magnus was there—only warlocks could create Portals—but . . . Alec was going to have a shit fit. Before Jace could say as much, the warlock approached him.

"Here," Magnus said, holding out his closed fist. Jace stared at it and then back up at the warlock with a raised brow. But Magnus merely rolled his yellow-green eyes and opened his hand. Jace's stomach dropped. His fathers ring, _his ring,_ was nestled in the warlocks palm. "Wherever Valentine is . . . I can't track him. Not even with this. So I thought you'd want it back." When Jace hesitated, Magnus let off a noise of impatience. "If I was mistaken, you can simply say so. I can just as easily chuck it into a toilet somewhere."

Jace's hand shot out, snatching up the ring and shoving it back on his finger. It felt heavier than he remembered as he twisted it with uncertainty. When he looked up, he saw that Magnus was watching him with curiosity. But he said nothing; simply shrugged and walking away as Jace slipped the Morgenstern ring back off his finger. He couldn't bring himself to wear it, but he couldn't bring himself to get rid of it either. Reaching up, he unclasped the necklace he wore and slipped the Institute key off it, shoving it in his pocket, before threading the chain through his ring. Placing it back around his neck, he tucked it under his armor, frowning at the feel of it against his chest.

A second later, Alec walked out, oblivious of everyone as he slung his bow across his chest. But when he looked up—when he saw Magnus in all his colorful warlock glory—he nearly tripped over his own feet. _Let the shit fit commence,_ Jace thought with amusement as his brother stared at the downworlder with wide shocked eyes, his face flushing red. Magnus only glowered back cooly, before turning regally—could a sparkly warlock be regal?—and studied the moss covered stone wall behind him. But Alec continued to stare, his eyes darkening, as he looked at Magnus. Jace knew that look. He's had that look. And he felt bad for his brother who wore it now. Alec had just taken a step toward Magnus when he caught sight of Jace and halted. _Go to him you dumb shit,_ Jace thought irritably. There was a difference between wearing that look because you _couldn't_ have someone and wearing it because you were afraid of what you could actually have.

Glancing over his shoulder, Magnus glare back at Alec—whose head was whipping forcefully back and forth between the warlock and his _parabatai_ like an idiot. And Jace watched them both while being strongly reminded of one of the warlocks TV shows. _What was it? Oh yeah, One Life to Waste._ But that wasn't the only thing he remembered while staying with Magnus.

"You know," Jace said over-loudly, his tone bored as he unsheathed one of his daggers and began cleaning under his nails. "There are those who think whiplash might be a bad thing. But then, what do they know?"

At this, Magnus snickered and Alec turned, if possible, redder, as he dropped his head and stared at the ground. Jace rolled his eyes. _You're not in love with me, you dumb ass. You just think you are. Now go talk to your stupid sparkly warlock boyfriend!_ But he didn't say that. In fact, no one said anything at all. And it wasn't long before Maryse, Robert, Max, Izzy, and Madeleine rounded the corner. Jace hastily put the dagger away (Maryse hated when he used his weapons for personal hygiene) at the same time that Alec jumped and walked quickly toward Jace. He didn't make it far before his mother called him to her side. Casting an uncomfortable look at Jace, Alec spun and joined his mother.

"Is Clarissa here yet?" Maryse asked absently as she fidgeted with Max—attempting to smooth down his unruly hair; all while Max gave his best martyred expression. Jace's stomach twisted. He seriously hoped Simon got his note and showed up soon. Alec, however, glanced back Jace as if asking for confirmation before looking at his mother.

"Not yet."

"You did tell her of the time change?" She asked straightening up and meeting her son's eyes.

But it was Isabelle who answered. "I know he did," she cut in, the silver ribbons in her dark braids reflecting the sunlight as she moved forward. She smiled down at Max, purposely ruffling his hair and effectively ruining the attempt Maryse had made to tame it. "She was at Simon's," she continued casually. "I had to give him his address . . . which he wouldn't need if he hadn't gone to tell her." Her eyes shot to Jace like an arrow. Jace stared back bored, his stomach a ball of nerves.

Maryse nodded, accepting the explanation. "Very good, then."

Sighing, Jace glanced down at his watch and then scanned the area. Why was he not there yet? He didn't know what he would do if the stupid vampire didn't show up. Chewing nervously on the inside of his cheek, he rubbed at his eyes. In front of him, Alec was staring at the warlock again—but to Jace's amusement, it was Magnus who was refusing to return the gaze this time. Instead, the warlock leaned casually against the wall and snapped blue electricity lazily between his fingers as if it were a normal habit of his when he was bored. In fact, Jace knew it was a normal habit. Rolling his eyes, he turned his focus to Madeleine. This was the woman who had put the absurd foolhardy idea in Clary's head. He intended to talk to her about that, but would wait till later—seeing as how he was pretty sure that accosting her now would not have a desired outcome. Checking his watch, he saw that it was noon. The Portal should have been opened by now, and Simon still hadn't shown up.

Slipping his attention past her, Jace stiffened. Simon was standing near the head of the path, still unseen by anyone else. _He came_ —Jace truly had not been sure that he would. The relief and gratitude he felt was short-lived, however, as he acknowledged Simon with a nod and pushed himself off the wall. He wasn't in the clear yet. Far from it. He still had to convince the vampire—

Jace stopped only briefly to let Maryse know that he'd be right back. Maryse, however, was busy complaining to Magnus about how long the Portal seemed to be taking. Moving toward Simon, Jace couldn't help but to agree with her. He knew exactly why it was taking so long, and so did the warlock. Magnus was stalling for Clary because as he had said before, he wouldn't help keep her here. Irritated, Jace tuned them out, his body pulsing with adrenaline as he grabbed the vampire by the arm and jerked him back around the corner and toward the large oak tree. Shoving Simon unceremoniously behind it, Jace ducked his head around to see if they had been followed. His heartbeat counted out the seconds. When no one appeared, he looked back at the vampire and found that he immediately and absurdly wanted to question him about his whereabouts last night. Had he been with Clary? What were they doing? The thought alone made Jace want to punch him in his stupid face. But it wasn't his business—at least he didn't think it was—and now was not the time to get on the bad side of only person who might help him.

Instead he said, "It's okay, we can talk here."

Simon stared at him with bewilderment. "You're the one who asked me here," he said pointedly. "I got your message stuck to my window when I woke up this morning." _When you woke up? You weren't even home!_ So why was he lying? Why bother— _s_ _tay on his good side._ Jace bit down, deciding it would be best not to comment on it, just as Simon spoke again. "Don't you ever use the phone like normal people?"

"Not if I can avoid it, vampire." Jace stated flatly, glaring at him. _And especially not if there's a chance Clary might intercept it._ Simon only stared back, his hands stuck in the pockets of his blue jeans. His dingy black shirt had some kind of gaming console on it that said, _It's been awhile since you turned me on_ . . . and Jace cocked a brow. But it was the way the sun was reflecting off the vampire's skin that really got his attention. It was strange—foreign almost. _Daylighter._ And it was weird knowing that it had been _his_ blood that had done it—changed him. Bizarre knowing the boy in front of him, should be, by all accounts, burning in a blaze of fire . . . and yet stood there untouched. "So it's still true," Jace asked casually. "You can walk in the sunlight. Even midday sun doesn't burn you."

Simon crossed his arms. "Yes. But you knew that—you were there."

Yes . . . he _had_ been there. And Jace remembered it as if it had happened only hours ago. The feel of Clary fighting him as he held her. Light shooting out of Simon as the sun doused him in it's golden rays. And the helplessness he felt as Clary screamed for the vampire— "I thought perhaps it might have worn off," Jace said lamely, but effectively cutting off his thoughts and knowing it was a lie. Simon didn't look as if he believed him either.

The vampire's eyes flashed. "If I ever feel the urge burst into flames, I'll let you know." _Good, I'll help you._ The thought was unwarranted and Jace bit the inside of his cheek just as Simon sighed. "Look, did you ask me to come all the way uptown just so you could stare at me like I was something in a petri dish? Next time I'll send you a photo."

"And I'll frame it and put it on my nightstand," Jace quipped without much humor. Maybe this had been a bad idea. Maybe he was kidding himself in thinking he could go to Simon for help. They had never been anything but hostile toward each other so why on earth would he think things would be different now? _Because we both love the same girl._ Sighing, Jace cast his eyes around the tree again and ran his fingers through his hair. His family would start getting suspicious of his absence soon. And so like it or not, this was his only option. "Look," he said casting his gaze back to the Daylighter. _Now or never._ "I asked you here for a reason. Much as I hate to admit it, vampire, we have something in common."

"Totally awesome hair?"

 _Hardly. Do you even own a mirror?_ But even the thought didn't hold as much malice as it usually did when he stared at the vampire—the boy who knew Clary better than Jace did. Simon had grown up with her, played with her, knew her likes and dislikes and _—fuck,_ Jace hated that about him. Envied him even. But now was not the time to be proud or indignant or jealous. He took a breath. "Clary."

He had tried to say her name casually, but he could hear the tenderness his tone had taken. If the vampire heard it, he didn't show it, however. He was starting at Jace with confusion. "Clary?"

 _Oh come on, you stupid leech. Stop playing stupid. I don't like talking about this with you anymore than you do._ "Clary," Jace said again, a little more impatiently. "You know: short, redheaded, bad temper."

But Simon was shaking his head, his brows creased. "I don't see how Clary is something we have in common."

 _Yes you do,_ Jace thought glaring at him. _You know it as well as I do, and right now I really need you to just admit it so we can move on. God knows I had to._ But out loud, Jace only cocked his head quizzically at him. "We both care about her," he said pointedly. "She's important to both of us. Right?"

Simon's mouth dropped open, his look of confusion turning into a look of angry disbelief. "You're asking me if I _care_ about her?"

 _No. I know you do. And that's why I asked you to come here today._ Jace knew that Simon loved Clary the way he did—the way he knew he shouldn't, but couldn't help. And it was because he was so disastrously head over heels in love with her that he had swallowed his pride and gone to the stupid vampire— _stop looking at me like that._ He wondered briefly if Simon was going to start in on him about how _he_ was allowed to care about her, while Jace was not. At least not in the way he did. Because he was her brother. Not that he would blame him if he did. Jace hadn't exactly gone out of his way to be nice to Simon in the past. Except for that one time he had—he still had the scars on his neck and wrists to prove it. But then, Clary didn't exactly love Simon the way _she_ was allowed to, either. _'_ _I love Simon like I should love you.'_ Her words echoed in his head—that whole night in his room playing out in front of him in the brief moment that Jace stared at the Daylighter. Her touch . . . her eyes . . . her words . . .

But Jace wasn't the only one who had had his heart broken by circumstances outside of his control. He could see it in Simon's eyes, and he hated that he could relate to the vampire. "Don't think I like asking you these questions," he snapped suddenly. Nor did he like seeing his pain mirrored in the boy's eyes. And they were wasting time. "I need to know what you would do for Clary." He sized up the vampire. "Would you lie for her?"

Simon went back to looking confused again, his question catching the Daylighter off guard. "Lie about what?" He shook his head. "What's going on anyway?" And then his eyes widened, a shadow of understanding passing across his face before Jace was able to respond. "Wait a second." Simon turned and stared at the Institute as if he could see through it to where the Lightwoods were preparing to Portal to Idris. His eyes darted back to Jace. "You're leaving for Idris _right now?_ Clary thinks you're leaving tonight."

"I know," Jace said, swallowing hard. "And I need you to tell the others that Clary sent you here to say she wasn't coming. Tell them she doesn't want to go to Idris anymore." And he could hear the pleading in his voice as he looked at the vampire, completely aware of the irony. If you had told him that he would have to someday beg Simon for something—he'd have laughed. He was not laughing now. He only stared. _Please_. Because it had to be him. No one would question him—Clary's best friend. "They'll believe you," Jace continued when Simon still hadn't spoken. "They know how—" Jace bit the inside of his cheek, his stomach twisting jealously, "—how close you two are."

Simon's eyes narrowed, his head shaking. "I can't believe you," he said after a pause. "You act like you want me to do something for Clary, but actually you want me to do something for _you."_ The vampire was still shaking his head as he moved past Jace. "No deal."

Jace's hand shot out, grabbing Simon's arm in a panic and jerking him back around to face him. "This _is_ for Clary." _Can't you see that?_ Jace thought desperately. _She can't go—she can't!_ "I'm trying to protect her. I thought you'd be a least a little interested in helping me do that."

Simon stared down at the hand that circled his arm, holding him captive. "How can I protect her if you don't tell me what I'm protecting her from?"

Jace blinked, his grip on the vampire still tight. He didn't know? While it was true that he and Luke had an unspoken agreement when it came to what they knew about Clary . . . and true that he had not said anything to Simon about it—Jace had just figured the man wolf would pass it along. But it was apparent he hadn't, and Jace was sure Luke would have had a reason for that. Shaking his head, Jace sighed. "Can't you just trust me that this is important?"

Simon smiled, though it didn't reach his dark eyes. "You don't understand how badly she want's to go to Idris," he said flatly. "If I'm going to keep that from happening, there had better be a damn good reason."

That was the problem though. Jace _did_ know just how much she wanted to go. Which was why they were standing here now—which was why he was going to have to tell the Daylighter the truth. Dropping his hand, Jace chewed on his cheek as he stared at Simon. He took a shaky breath. "What Clary did on Valentine's," he exhaled. "With the rune on the wall—the Rune of Opening—well, you saw what happened."

"She destroyed the ship." Simon shrugged as casually as if he were talking about the weather, and Jace blanched at the thought of someone overhearing him. Not that the vampire cared. "Saved all our lives—"

"Keep your voice down," Jace hissed, glancing around for any sign of movement. When he looked back at Simon, he saw the vampire was regarding him with dawning comprehension that was turning rapidly into agitation.

"You're not saying no one else knows about that, are you?" he demanded.

"I know. You know. Luke knows and Magnus knows." Jace sighed with sudden exhaustion. "No one else."

"What do they all think happened?" Simon's tone was skeptical. "The ship just opportunely came apart?"

Jace only shook his head. "I told them Valentine's Ritual of Conversion must have gone wrong."

The vampire's mouth dropped open at his words. "You lied to the Clave?" He sounded almost awed by it.

"Yes, I lied to the Clave." _And if that doesn't tell you how important this is—how serious—then nothing will, vampire._ "Isabelle and Alec know Clary has some ability to create new runes, so I doubt I'll be able to keep that from the Clave or the new Inquisitor." Jace stared at Simon as his tone turned once more to a pathetic pleading. "But if they knew she could do what she does—amplify ordinary rune so they have incredible destructive power—they'd want her as a fighter, a weapon. And she's not equipped for that. She wasn't brought up for it—" Simon was shaking his head. _Why are you shaking your head?!_ "What?" Jace asked through clenched teeth. _What part of this are you possibly not getting?_ But when Simon answered his unasked question, he instantly wished he hadn't.

"You're Nephilim," the vampire pointed out logically. "Shouldn't you want what's best for the Clave? If that's using Clary—"

"You want them to have her?" His words were whispered—deadly. "To put her in the front lines, up against Valentine and whatever army he's raising?" And Jace could feel the blood draining from his face as he stood stone still, not trusting himself to keep from reaching out and throttling the vampire. He clasped his hands together just to make sure he didn't.

"No," said Simon, unfazed as he looked back at the Shadowhunter in front of him. Jace wondered what he saw. "I don't want that. But I'm not one of you. I don't have to ask who to put first, Clary or my family."

 _Neither do I. Clary will always—that's why I'm here you stupid fucking—_ "It's not like that," Jace replied a lot calmer than he felt. It didn't stop the blood from returning to his face with the force of a wave crashing against the shore, though. "If I thought it would help the Clave—" _I still wouldn't let them have her._ "—but it won't. She'll just get hurt." And he wasn't about to let that happen.

Simon regarded him thoughtfully. "Even if you thought it would help the Clave, you'd never let them have her," he said, speaking what Jace had only moments ago been thinking. It was disconcerting to know that the vampire could so easily tell this about him, and Jace had to bite down hard on his cheek, working hard to keep his reply neutral.

"What makes you say that, vampire?"

"Because no one can have her but you."

Simon hadn't hesitated with his answer, and the words were like a kick to the face. Jace could only stare at the Daylighter as thoughts of _that's not true,_ and _you're wrong_ , ran through his head. Because he had to be wrong! And yet . . . he wasn't, was he? The realization of this shocked Jace. In fact, the vampire couldn't be more miserably right if he tried. Jace had done everything in his power to keep Clary with him—near him—even _before_ they had learned the truth. And he absolutely hated the idea of sharing her, not just with Simon, but with anyone. But she wasn't his. Not in the way he wanted. And this definitely wasn't about his fucked up relationship with her. This was about protecting her—keeping her safe. Surely Simon knew that! And yet, the vampire only stared at him, his head shaking.

"So you wont help me," he whispered finally, choosing to completely ignore the vampires words. He had thought that Simon, of all people . . . "You won't help her?" And Simon stared back at Jace, his expression unreadable, before opening his mouth. Whatever he had intended to say, however, was lost in the sound of a loud inhumanly piercing and painful scream. They both whirled toward the pathway that would lead them back to where the Lightwoods were, but it was Jace that spoke first, his adrenaline kick-starting. "What was that?"

"Something's happened—"

But the rest of Simon's words were lost as Jace shot like an arrow down the path and around the corner, before skidding to a halt. Simon was next to him within seconds. But Jace paid no attention to the vampire as he stared at the scene unfolding in front of him. A heavy fog had fallen around the courtyard— _hellmist_ —bringing with it the heady smell of death. Jace could hear the clashing of seraph blades and Shadowhunters colliding with the damned within. "Forsaken," he breathed, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. "Dozen's of them."And then he turned to the vampire, staring at him as if just realizing he was there. His eyes widened. "Stay here," he commanded urgently as he pulled a seraph blade from is belt. "Do you understand? Stay here."

He had to trust the Daylighter would listen, as he didn't have time to make sure. Jace threw himself into the fray, bringing one of his blades to life. Time slowed down as he ran through the demon mist, his eyes raking the scene around him and picking it apart with tactical accuracy. He ducked and rolled under Isabelle's electrum whip as it lashed out at something behind him, and then he sprung easily back to his feet without slowing his pace. Nearby, Maryse was swinging a blade over her head as she stood protectively in front of Max, while Madeleine and Robert took on their own monsters—Robert moving slower than usual. And off to the side, Alec jerked an arrow from his quiver, using it like a dagger as he sunk it deep into the chest of a Forsaken that had gotten too close to Magnus. From here, Jace could see that his brother's jacket was torn and his arm was bleeding. The Forsaken crumpled, however, and Alec kneeled down next to it, pulling the arrow from its chest just as a larger monster loomed up unseen behind him. Jace cried out a warning he knew was lost in the battle. _No!_ He changed course, his pulse spiking as he ran at his brother with what he knew was an impossible speed—even for a Shadowhunter. Detaching another blade and bringing it to life, Jace used Alec's bent knee to lunge into the air at the same time that he scissored the angel knives down, decapitating the Forsaken that dared to threaten his _parabatai._ Dropping lightly into a crouch, he rolled swiftly to his feet and crossed back to a startled Alec, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him up.

"A little warning?" Alec said, staring wide eyed at the dead Forsaken.

"Yeah, sure." he grinned, watching as his brother pulled his bow from across his chest. "Hold on, though . . . I want to make sure I do it right." Spinning away, Jace cut down another one of the monsters as it lumbered near them, quickly jumping back as it fell hard to the ground. And then he cleared his throat before calling out to his brother with mock horror. "Oh my God! Alec—" his brother notched an arrow and sent it flying into one of the damned as Jace pushed his back against his _parabatai's_ , the angel blades out in front of him in each hand. "—a gigantic ugly Forsaken is going to attack you—" Diving forward, Jace swept one blade low across the knees of yet another Forsaken, his other blade cutting the opposite direction across it's midsection. A second later, an arrow hit it in the face. Looking up at his brother with surprise, he watched as Alec placed a firm kick against the chest of a smaller monster and sent it stumbling backward. Pulling his silver dagger from his belt, Jace flung it with rapid precision at the Forsaken and watched with satisfaction as it hit home, dropping the creature. Turning, he pressed himself back against his brother, preparing himself once more as he continued to call out cheekily. "But since you're busy collecting arrows from the chests of the dead—" Vaulting forward, Jace sent the arms of an approaching Forsaken flying off into the distance. "Well, shit," Jace said dryly as the Forsaken, undeterred, lowered it head and attempted to lunge forward like a battering ram. He didn't make it very far. Dropping to the ground, Jace watched as Alec, having heard his blunder, whirled around and sent an arrow sailing over his head and into the heart of the limbless Forsaken. "Anyway," Jace pressed on casually as he leapt lightly back to his feet. He pushed his hair back with a grin. "I thought I might go ahead and do you the favor of killing it."

"And about using my knee as a ramp?" Alec asked pointedly as he fired off another arrow, hitting a Forsaken that had been creeping toward the warlock.

Jace laughed. "Well, that was just because I thought it would be fun."

Before Alec could retort, the hellmist thinned and Jace blinked as the midday sun beat down on them. It took him a second to realize why, as he met the large horrified eyes of the warlock. Magnus had finally managed to open the Portal in the wall—his hands sparking with blue magic. "The Portal!" Magnus shouted anxiously when everyone continued to stand and stare around themselves in shock. "Go through the Portal!"

"Right," Jace said, his moment of surprise over. Turning back to his friend, he grabbed his _parabatai's_ shoulder at the same time that Alec grabbed his. Meeting his eyes, his brother nodded. The great thing about Alec was that in times like this . . . he needed no words. Letting go of Jace, he ran toward the Portal and began ushering people through. First Maryse, who had swooped Max up into her arms, followed by Robert. And when one of the Forsaken rushed forward in an attempt to stop the Lightwood patriarch, Jace brought his blades up with the intent of stopping it. He didn't get the chance however, as a golden whip shot out of the mist, cutting it in half.

 _"GO!"_ he shouted, rounding on Isabelle. When Izzy just stood there staring, however, he grabbed her and shoved her unceremoniously toward Alec, watching as his brother wrapped his arms around her, dragging her back toward the Portal.

And then Jace froze as several things happened at once. A massive Forsaken—easily twice the size of the ones he had killed so far—lunged out of the hellmist at his brother and sister with a deadly looking double-bladed dagger, just as someone shouted Isabelle's name in terror. It was Simon— _Fuck!_ Jace had forgotten about the daylighter, and he spun in time to see the vampire trip over something. Because of course he did. _I swear you're about as useless as tits on a nun._ All the same, Simon's shout of warning had worked. The Forsaken, having become confused, stalled—giving Alec and Isabelle the time they needed to reach the Portal.

Simon, on the other hand, was still on the ground, backing away from whatever he had tripped over—and right toward the Forsaken he had stopped. He looked terrified and was completely unaware of his surroundings, or the impending danger he was unknowingly approaching. This irritated Jace to no end. _You're a fucking vampire!_ Jace thought irritably. _Act like one!_ But somehow he knew that would be too much to ask. Sprinting toward the boy, Jace hurtled over the something that Simon had tripped over and stalled. Not something—someone. Madeleine. The woman was lying on her back, her lifeless eyes staring into the void. So this what had distracted the vampire, Jace realized grimly. It had distracted him too.

And the time it took him to stare at the dead woman would cost him.

Looking up, Jace watched in horror as the Forsaken lunged forward, its blade flashing with blinding speed toward the vampire. _"Simon!"_ Jace shouted urgently, his heart thundering as he hurtled forward. _"Move!"_

Simon, finally realizing what was going on around him, looked up horrified before trying to twist away from the hulking creature. But he wasn't fast enough. And neither was Jace. But he had to try. He had to! And he pushed himself forward with a surge of speed, watching helplessly as the massively grotesque Forsaken stabbed Simon. Somewhere, Jace heard screaming over the blood pounding in his ears. And then a second later— _a second too late_ —Jace was on the monster, thrusting one of the angel knives savagely into the Forsaken's back, severing it's spine as the blade tore through it's heart. The creature crumpled instantly to the ground.

Standing over Simon, Jace stared wide-eyed at the blood pooling the vampire's clothes as he lay unconscious. _"Fuck!"_ He shouted, catching the attention of the remaining Forsaken. And then he watched as one by one, they turned toward him. There were still so many. Too many. He definitely couldn't leave Simon there on the ground—they'd kill him. _If you're not dead already. You'd better not be dead._ "By the Angel _—"_ Jace gritted his teeth as he bent down to lift the daylighter, cradling him in his arms. "How many fucking times do I have to save your life, vampire?" Turning, searching desperately for a way out, Jace caught sight of the Portal and the warlock. His eyes popped open with surprise at the sight. He had thought that . . . but Magnus _hadn't_ left. With one hand still pressed against the wall, a current of electricity flowing from it like a river, the warlock stared back at him with a mixture of shock, worry, agitation, and concentration. He was keeping the Portal open, but it was clear to Jace that it wouldn't be for much longer. With his free hand, Magnus gestured urgently at him. But he couldn't go; he had Simon—he had to get him to safety first.

Spinning away from the warlock, his pulse pounding in his ears, Jace sprinted instead toward the path out of the garden. He stopped just as quickly. The Forsaken had it blocked off. They had everything blocked off. Jace clamped down on his cheek, his mind reeling. There were so many, and he was sure that there were even more hiding inside the hellmist. _Shit!_ Glancing back at the open Portal, his eyes locked with a set of yellow cat eyes that simply said: _D_ _o what you must, but do so quickly_. It was in that moment that Jace realized he only had one option. He was too tired, too encumbered with a dying Simon—there was no way he would be able to get the vampire out safely. He had no choice, and the Clave wasn't going to like it.

"You _soooo_ fucking owe me," Jace hissed.

And then he ran as hard and as fast as he could for the Portal, mentally berating himself as he went. _This wasn't part of the plan. This wasn't_ — _how do you always manage to fuck shit up?_ _And for a vampire you barely like?_ Jace ducked as fists and weapons and arms and the Angel knows what else, swung out at him. But he didn't stop. He pushed himself forward as he vaulted over the dead bodies that littered the ground. _Madeleine._ Shaking the thought away, he looked up to see the warlock's magic flicker as if it were about to go out. _No._ He was so close, and yet so far from the Portal. A Portal that was starting to getting smaller. _We're not going to make it._ The thought hit Jace just as he felt something nail him in the back and send him sprawling forward. And yet . . . somehow, he managed to stay on his feet—managed to keep from dropping the vampire. Looking up, he saw Magnus's terrified cat eyes go wide a second before the warlock made a frantic swiping motion with two of his fingers and a terrible crashing sound rent the air behind Jace. He didn't stop to investigate.

"Magnus!" He roared as he got closer. "Through the Portal! Go!"

But Magnus only shook his dark spiky head, the hellmist creating a weird aura around the usually glittering warlock. "I'll be fine!" he called back, his colorful body rigid. But Jace wasn't having it. He was not about to leave Alec's . . . whatever they were . . . here to die. Especially not after all he had done for them. And he _would_ die—didn't the stupid warlock realize that? He wouldn't be fine, there were too many of them. Jace slowed a fraction—something Magnus caught immediately and his eyes flashed dangerously. "I do not have the time, patience, or magic, Shadowhunter," he shouted snapping his fingers and sending out a shower of blue sparks. Still, Jace hesitated. "GO! It's not _me_ they're here for, you idiotic child!"

Jace didn't like it. He hated it in fact. But all the same, he lunged at the Portal—half flying, half diving—just as Magnus fell to his knees— _NO!_ He tried to stop. To help. But it was too late. In fact, all he managed to do in the end was trip forward into the Portal instead; the black abyss encompassing him as he tumbled through the suffocating darkness with Simon in his arms.

He had done it.

He had brought a vampire— _a downworlder—_ illegally into Alicante.

 _Fuck my life._

* * *

 ** _Please Review!_**


	3. Unexpected

**~ Chapter Two ~**  
 **Unexpected  
**

Jace landed on his back with Simon lying across him. He was still unconscious, and he was bleeding all over him. _You had better not be dead after all that. I swear if you are, I'll . . ._ But what Jace would do, became lost as he slowly grew aware of the shocked whispers around him—the startled and angry eyes watching him. Maryse looked like she was trying to contain her anger; Isabelle was already running toward him in a panicked frenzy; and Alec . . . well, he just stared at Jace like he was a massive jack ass. Something that might be entirely true. Shaking his head, Jace rolled Simon off of him and pulled himself into a sitting position just as Izzy reached them. She dropped next to the vampire, pulling at his bloodstained shirt. Before Jace could so much as move to help, a short, bald, and portly man in Clave robes pushed his way forward. It was the new Inquisitor Aldertree followed by Consul Malachi.

"What is the meaning of this?" Malachi boomed, staring down at Jace with barely controlled rage. "You have brought an unsanctioned downworlder within the walls of our city!"

"Why ask if you were just going to answer your own question?" The retort came out before Jace could stop it, and somewhere nearby he heard Maryse take a sharp breath that sounded suspiciously like his name. He ignored it as he stared up at the Consul, waiting for an answer. _Seriously . . . why do people do that?_ But it wasn't Malachi that responded, not that Jace had any doubt that it wasn't because the Consul didn't want to. _  
_

"Malachi," the Inquisitor said, patting the Consul on the shoulder good-naturedly; cutting him off just as he had opened his mouth to scream with what Jace was positive would have been a glorious bout of rage. "I'm sure the boy has a very good reason for bringing him here. Don't you?" But when the Inquisitor smiled down at him, Jace immediately felt uneasy by it—something he made sure not to show as he stared back.

"Of course I do." Jace stated indignantly. "Do you really think I'd bring a vampire inside Alicante without a good reason?" But he didn't elaborate right away. Instead he glanced around the Accords Hall. Several Shadowhunters were gathered there, and all of them were looking at him. They had come from all over the world to aide the Clave and here Jace was . . . breaking the Law. _You little rebel you,_ he thought with mirth as he smoothed his features into calm defiant boredom before meeting the eyes of those around him. There were many Shadowhunters there that he knew, while others he knew only by word of mouth. Like the Inquisitor. He had never directly met Aldertree, but he had heard about him from the Lightwoods. Maryse had never been particularly fond of him, and neither had Robert. But it wasn't anything hostile as far as Jace knew—it was more or less just one of those things that sometimes happened. No different than disliking a particular song or a type of food. Deciding he'd stalled long enough, Jace leaned back casually on his hands, staring at Malachi with disinterest.

"The thing is," he began. "After we had been attacked by about fifty or so Forsaken—you'll have to excuse me for not getting the exact count as I was busy, you know, not dying—we only had a small amount of time to get through the Portal. Simon here—" he gestured plainly at the unconscious vampire, "—was there when it happened. He's a friend of my sisters, you see—" his skin prickled, "—and he got stabbed trying to help us escape." And then Jace shrugged as if to say, _Vampires, what can you do?_ Behind the Inquisitor, Alec was shaking his head slowly. But Jace wasn't done. Far from it. And he stared down at his blood-soaked gear. "So the reason for my bringing him here," he continued, shifting his gaze lazily back to the Consul, "was because I had no choice. I couldn't leave him—my sister would have killed me—" his heart flipped, "—if I had. Especially since he was only there because he was trying to deliver a message for her. And then there's the message it would have sent to Downworlders everywhere right after the Accords; Shadowhunters: Asking for the help of Downworlders and then leaving them behind to die since—well . . . lets be realistic—since forever. But hey, whatever. I mean, it's your call and all. I just don't see it being a very good motto. Not much of a ring to it." No one spoke as Jace sprung gracefully to his feet, frowning down at Simon. "Now, if you don't mind—I really think he needs help." An then he raised a brow, looking up when no one moved. "Or are we killing him?"

And then the hall erupted with people talking and moving. Isabelle yelling out for Jace as she pressed her hands against the vampires bleeding abdomen; Maryse, with Max by her side, capturing the attention of the Consul. Even Robert had moved forward, gripping his side as he stepped in front of the Inquisitor, engaging him in conversation. Other Shadowhunters gossiped amongst themselves—some looking fearfully at Simon— _Oh stop, he's fucking unconscious!_ While others, those from Institutes, merely looked on curiously. But that's because they were use to seeing Downworlders. And then Alec was at Jace's side, both of them racing to help Isabelle.

"Could you have said that any less callously?" Alec grunted through gritted teeth; helping Jace to pick up the vampire while Isabelle fretted around them. Jace blinked back at him.

 _I could have, yes . . . but—_ "Alec, the majority of Shadowhunter's here, have lived here all their lives. That means they're not familiar with Downworlders, and still think of them as something evil and to be feared." Alec looked down at Simon skeptically and snorted. _I know, right?_ Jace barely contained his grin as he shifted his weight and made to move toward the door. Isabelle, who was listening, said nothing as she followed closely behind. Her face was white with worry and her eyes never left Simon. "But seriously," Jace continued. "Do you really think these people want me to show any kind of concern or sensitivity toward a vampire? Because they don't. The only reason they gave it pause was cause I pointed out the Accords."

They had very nearly made it to the door when a curious voice spoke from right behinds them. "What are you doing?"

Jace, Alec, and Isabelle all spun to see the Inquisitor standing there staring at them. _Well, you all were busy . . . so we just thought we'd run little Simon here home while the grown-ups talk._ But before he could vocalize his thought, Maryse stepped forward. "Inquisitor, if I may . . . please let me escort my children back to the Penhallows. As you know that's where we're staying. The vampire is in need of medical attention—" she took a breath. "There is no sense in letting him die needlessly. Especially since he would not have been at the Institute when the Forsaken attacked, had it not been for his friendship with Shadowhunters." At this, her eyes fell on Jace, her lips razor thin. When the Inquisitor said nothing, Maryse drew back her shoulders. "Keep in mind that the longer you hesitate, the more certain it becomes that the vampire will die."

Aldertree met the Lightwood Matriarch's gaze briefly before staring back curiously at the vampire being held up by the two boys, and leaving Jace with the strange, yet persistent urge to protect Simon from the man. "Very well," the Inquisitor conceded after another pause. "I will put the vampire in your care for now. But make no mistake, Maryse, while I'm sure this is merely an unfortunate accident—the Law has still been broken. And we _will_ have to decide how best to handle it."

"Couldn't you just Portal him back to New York?" Jace spoke up, his tone logical and his brow cocking upward at every eye that shot rapidly to him. And then he shrugged casually. "Just sayin."

"Shut up," Alec breathed through his teeth. Jace had a feeling that had they not been holding Simon, his brother might have even tried to not-so-subtly kick him.

Opening his mouth to retort, Jace caught the cautious glare from Maryse—the imperceptible shake of her head—and thought better of it. Turning, she nodded politely back at the Inquisitor, thanking him for his temporary leniency. _Temporary? Why temporary?_ But Jace kept his lips sealed; biting, instead, on the inside of his cheek as Maryse gestured toward the door, herding her children forward. Without another word, they ran out of the hall, Simon jostling between the two of them.

Outside, the sun had already set, the cobblestone roads washed in the glow of the witchlight street lamps. Jace blinked. He had forgotten about the six hour time difference. But he didn't get to think long on it as they shuffled forward, making their way as quickly as they could through Alicante to the Penhallow's house. Away from the prying eyes of the Gard, Jace was able to show just how terrified and irritated he felt for the stupid vampire as he and Alec ran. _Don't you die._ _Don't you dare even think about it, vampire_ _—_ the house loomed out in front of them. Maryse took point as they flew up the small stone steps and threw open the door, her heels clicking hard and fast on the hard wood. Luckily, this wasn't the first time they had stayed with the Penhallows, so when they burst in carrying a dying vampire, they didn't have to stop and ask for directions. Following Maryse upstairs, she shoved open one of the bedroom doors and Alec and Jace entered quickly behind her, lying Simon on the nearby bed. Taking a step back, Isabelle and Maryse were on the vampire in seconds.

"What got him?" Maryse asked, jerking up the vampire's shirt and revealing the wound that had yet to close. Which was weird, seeing as how vampires usually healed quickly. At least he thought they did.

Jace shook his head nervously, "A double bladed knife—I'm guessing dipped in poison—"

"Isabelle," Maryse snapped without responding to Jace, but looking at her daughter instead. "I need rags. Ask Aline to bring some up."

But Isabelle looked like she would rather die than leave Simon's side. "I'll do it," Jace offered quickly, rushing out of the room before he could be stopped. Behind him, Jace heard Maryse bark out an order to Alec followed by the sound of the door shutting. He didn't bother looking for Aline. Flying to the linen closet, he pulled several towels and washrags from the shelves before rushing back into the room. Behind the door, Alec was holding a thrashing Simon as Maryse poured a smoking vial of something over his wound. Where the hell did she get medicine, Jace wondered. She was covered in the vampires blood, her hands a bright red, as she worked. He was starting to think that maybe Maryse just kept smoking potions on her at all times for situations just like this. But had there ever been a situation just like this? No. He knew there hadn't. Before Jace could move, Isabelle was in front of him, relieving him of the rags and setting them on the bed. Grabbing one, she used it to sop up whatever splashed off the vampire's body.

"Jace," Maryse said without looking up as she snatched another washrag from the pile and pressed it hard over the gash. "Go change out of your gear. It needs to be washed. Your regular clothes are in your and Alec's room—the same room you guys stayed in last time." Jace knew better than to argue with her. Hell, truth told he didn't even want to be in there. But . . . if something happened to Simon, and he wasn't there? It would be his fault. It was already his fault. And Clary— _Oh, Clary . . . please forgive me._ "Jace. Go!" Maryse shouted, seeing his hesitation as Simon went limp in Alec's hand _s_. Jace's heart gave a painful lurch and Maryse met his eyes sternly. But her voice was soft when she spoke, like a mother reassuring her young. "He's still breathing, Jace. Go."

Leaving the room a second time, Jace stopped off to grab a pair of jeans and a black long sleeve before crossing back to the linen closet to get yet another towel. In the bathroom, he tried hard not to think of anything as he pulled his jacket and shirt off, wincing as he did so. He had several bruises beginning to bloom across his chest and yet, he couldn't remember getting hit once while he had been fighting the Forsaken. The bruises and light cuts stated otherwise. Staring in the mirror, he sighed. His eyes had dark circles under them and his face looked thinner than normal. Taking a step back, he pulled his stele from his pocket and pressed it against his bared stomach and welcomed the burning sting as he drew a healing rune, followed by an energy rune. Closing his eyes, he groaned with relief as they both began to take effect. Tossing his stele on the bathroom counter and unbuttoning his pants, Jace had just started to pull them off when—

 _"Oh!"_

The shocked cry startled him, his body jumping, as he hastily jerked the leather pants back up—his eyes darting toward the intruder. It was Aline. She was standing in the doorway, staring at him with wide eyes. At least he thought it was Aline—she had grown a lot since the last time he had seen her. She was no longer the awkward girl she had once been, but had filled out nicely. She was pretty, even. Her dark hair was cut short, framing her face and complimenting her Asian features and . . . and she was still staring at him. Jace knew that look—it wasn't the first time he'd been stared at with that look—and he raised a brow, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

As if just realizing what she was doing, Aline threw a hand over her eyes. _"Shit!"_

Spinning rapidly, she tried to make a quick exit but ended up smacking into the wall—which inadvertently caused her to stumbled backward into Jace. He caught her easily. "You okay there?" He asked with a trace of amusement.

Aline lowered her hand, her face burning crimson as she turned around to face him. "I am _so_ sorry!" she stammered apologetically as she looked from his bare chest to his face. "I—I didn't realize anyone was here yet! I was trying to get everything ready when . . ."

"Sorry," Jace said, taking pity on her. Her compunction was endearing. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't!" She protested quickly. Too quickly. And Jace narrowed his eyes.

"Oh? So you often play human pinball in the bathroom, then? Because just between you and I—" he leaned toward her conspiratorially, "—that may not be the most sanitary of ideas. You might want to consider a change in the location of your game." The amusement was back in his voice, and he was surprised at how easy she was to talk to. But then, he'd known her for years. Why wouldn't she be? _That must be it,_ he thought.

"What's a human pinball?"

Jace let out a breath of laughter at Aline's bewildered expression; her dark brows had creased, and he was reminded of all the times he had asked Clary for an explanation of something mundane. He wondered idly if he made that same face. But unlike the beautiful redhead, Jace was not as patient. "It's nothing," he said with a jerk of his head.

And then they both stood there, Jace smiling and half naked while Aline gawking at him awkwardly. She really was very pretty, he thought. And maybe in another life he would have even been interested. But he wasn't in another life. He was in his stupid ridiculous life where he was already taken. By his sister. Where the phrase _"complicated relationship"_ didn't even begin to touch what they had, nor did he think he could explain it. _I can't even explain it to myself, let alone anyone else._ Ever.

Rocking back on his feet, Jace tried to keep his tone casual as she continued to stand there staring. "Sooo . . ."

"By the Angel!" Aline jumped, realizing her folly, before bolting out of the bathroom as if Jace were some type of demon creeping in the night. _With the way I feel about Clary, I might as well be,_ he thought morosely as he kicked the door shut and made sure to lock it this time.

Casting his gaze back toward the mirror, he smiled grimly. He looked like a skeleton. "Watch out ladies, he's a catch." He used his best game show host voice as he stared at his miserable reflection. "So long as you're willing to put up with his compulsive dislike of ducks and obsessive infatuation with his sister." _Yeah, because who wouldn't want that?_

Jace turned on the shower.

After spending way too long under the bliss of the hot water, Jace headed downstairs and found Alec sitting in one of the large antique chairs that gave him an idea of what the Beijing Institute might be like. In fact, the entire Penhallow house did. It was pleasant actually, having something different—though he already missed Taki's. Across from his _parabatai,_ sat another boy that Jace didn't know or recognize. And yet, strangely, he did. He just couldn't put his finger on it. The boy was lounging in a chaise across from Alec, his dark hair looking oddly out of place against his pale skin. Seeing Jace, the boy stood up and held out a hand.

"Hello," he grinned. "I'm Sebastian Verlac."

Jace stared at Sebastian's hand, his eyes narrowing. The boy's smile was wide—too wide. Sincere to the point of being insincere. There was something off about him. Biting the inside of his cheek, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around Sebastian's outstretched appendage, shaking it firmly before speaking. "Jace—"

"Oh, I already know who you are," Sebastian cut him off. "And your sister. Is she here, too?" And then he rocked onto his toes, looking over Jace's shoulder as if he expected Clary to flounce down the steps at any moment. _Are you kidding?_ Jace didn't like it. At all. Biting the inside of his cheek, he glared blatantly at Sebastian while something flickered in the back of his mind. He didn't like the boy in front of him, that much he was sure of. But what really bugged him, was that he didn't know why.

Before he could answer, Isabelle did, in fact, come flouncing down the stairs— _well . . . she is my sister_ —and glared at Jace. "You!" She growled, taking the braids out of her hair. "What the hell was all that? Where the hell is Clary? I thought she was supposed to be here!"

"You _did_ tell her about the time change, didn't you?" Alec asked, looking up at his _parabatai_ from his chair.

But Jace didn't answer right away. He was staring at Sebastian, who seemed a little too interested in Clary. He had caught the spark in the boy's eyes at hearing her name and it took everything he had not to clock him for it. Chewing at the inside of his cheek, it required great effort to tear his attention away from the curious boy; but when he did, Jace cast a dirty look at Alec for having the audacity to question him like that—founded or not—before turning to Isabelle. "She was," he said answering her question first. "But that's why Simon was there. I guess she changed her mind after all, and—"

"And what?" Izzy snapped, throwing her hands in the air with frustration. She was breathing hard. "After the fit she threw about coming here, she couldn't be bothered with telling us herself that she changed her mind? So she sent Simon instead, and now . . . look how well that turned out!"

Jace went stone still, his voice taut. "Would you have preferred that she had been the one there when the Forsaken showed up?"

"Well no," Izzy stammered, flushing. "Jace, you know that's not what I meant—"

"How is the vampire, anyway?" Jace cut her off.

Isabelle took a steadying breath. "He's . . . alive. But mom . . ." she shook her head, unable or unsure of how to finish.

"So he might still die?" It was Sebastian, and both Isabelle and Jace stared at him with surprise. He hadn't said it like he was shocked to hear about the vampire, but like he already knew. Seeing the question in Jace's eyes, Sebastian shrugged. "I was in the Accords Hall when you hurtled through the Portal with the blood soaked downworlder." But before Jace could respond to his explanation, Isabelle was moving forward, her eyes wide and her anger abetting as she stared at the dark haired boy.

"Who are you?" she demanded, her eyes shining with interest as her hands flew to her hair. _Good lord, Iz_. Was he really the only one who thought there was something strange about the guy? Casting a sidelong glance at Alec, who looked completely at ease in Sebastian's company, Jace realized that that was, in fact, the case. Rolling his eyes and feeling agitated for reasons he couldn't explain, he decided that he wanted to be anywhere there.

"I'm gonna go get something to eat," he said to no one in general, but it was Sebastian who looked up at him. He was holding Isabelle's hand in his.

"The kitchen is—"

"I know where the kitchen is," Jace grumbled, shoving past him and taking long strides toward the archway on the other side of the room with his brother right behind him.

Flipping on the light, Jace said nothing to his _parabatai_ as he crossed over to the fridge and pulled it open— _Jackpot._ It was stocked full of food. From fruit to cheese to raw meat waiting to be cooked . . . and yet, he wasn't hungry. _Which is why you look like a skeleton,_ he reminded himself as he grabbed an apple. Turning, he leaned casually against the counter and he took a bite of the tart green fruit—transporting suddenly back to the greenhouse of the Institution where he had spent Clary's birthday with her. It was the first time they had kissed— _stop, stop, stop._

Looking at Alec, Jace jerked his chin toward the sitting room. "So whose the tool?"

Alec fought to hide a smile and lost. "He's a cousin of the Penhallows. He came here from France."

"Funny. He doesn't look French."

"And you don't look like an asshole," Alec countered, raising a brow. "And yet here you are . . . an asshole."

"Ah, but a likeable asshole," Jace grinned, throwing the forbidden fruit at his brother, who caught it deftly.

"And what's not to like about Sebastian?"

"He's too nice." Jace said simply.

"And being nice is bad?"

"It is when it's fake." And then Jace shook his head. What was wrong with him? "Nevermind, maybe I'm just wound up and reading to much into it. So where is everyone?"

"Max is upstairs reading, and mom and dad went to discuss some things with Aline's parents. Isabelle is in the living room making an ass out of herself around—"

"The tool?"

"— _Sebastian_. And Aline is . . ." Alec looked around curiously. "I don't know where she is. I saw her upstairs while you were in the shower. But she didn't exactly stop to say hi."

Jace grinned at that, but said nothing that would elude to the reason behind her behavior. "So do you know what they're planning to do with Simon?" he asked instead, the smile fading from his lips.

"No more than you do." Alec said, taking a bite out of the apple. "At least not yet. Because I'm eighteen, they want me at the Council meeting tomorrow. Hopefully I'll find out then." And then his brother looked at Jace thoughtfully. "Hey, did Simon really come to tell us that Clary changed her mind?"

"Yeah." Jace said, suddenly cautious—though he didn't show it. "Why?"

Alec shrugged. "I don't know. I was just thinking that maybe you never told Clary about the time change. I mean, I know you didn't want her here—so it would make for a great excuse to just not tell her and then act like she didn't want to come when she doesn't show up."

 _You overly observant jackboot._ Jace bit the inside of his cheek. On the outside, however, he only smiled innocently. "Nope," he lied smoothly, his eyes wide and sincere. "For once, she actually listened and asked Simon to come tell us. I saw him coming down the path and immediately went to him. I thought . . ." he let his voice trail off painfully, and Alec picked up on it instantly.

"You thought she might have been in trouble," his brother said softly, and Jace felt guilty at knowing that his _parabatai_ was falling for it. But it was better this way. Even if they didn't understand why. "I saw you practically fly out of the garden," Alec continued. "Thought about following you but . . ."

"I'm glad you didn't," Jace said fiercely. "If you had, you wouldn't have been there when the Forsaken showed up."

Alec stared at him like he wanted to ask him something else but was afraid of the answer. "That brings me to my next question," he said. Okay, maybe he wasn't afraid. Jace's heart jumped nervously, but he nodded calmly with guarded eyes as Alec continued. "If Clary didn't want to be here . . . if she really changed her mind . . . do you—that is, I mean—is it possible . . . that you brought Simon here to get her to come anyway?"

Jace stared blankly at Alec. _What the hell are you talking about?_ He shook his head. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Look," he went on hastily. "I know you said you didn't want her here . . . but maybe you did. Maybe subconsciously you . . . and that's why you brought Simon here. Cause you knew once she found out, she'd come—"

"No." Jace cut him off curtly. "There is no subconscious anything—I really didn't want her here, and I don't now." That part had always been true. And yet his pulse was racing at his brother's words because he knew the truth of them. Clary would come if she found out about Simon. Come hell or high-water, she would find a way to get here for the stupid bloodsucker. "And while she might have changed her mind," Jace continued, his voice like stretched wire. "You're right. She will come for the vampire if she finds out. Which is why she can't find out. Which is why you have to make sure she doesn't find out."

Alec raised a brow. "And just how am _I_ supposed to do that?"

"You're going to the Council meeting tomorrow." Jace said simply. "You're eighteen, remember? You get to be there. And so you have to persuade them to Portal Simon back to New York. His being here truly was an unfortunate accident. So the only logical thing to do would be to send him back."

"Don't you think he'll tell Clary once he's back?" Alec asked.

"I don't care what he tells her," Jace responded with exasperation. "So long as he says it to her face in New York." _She can't come here. Not her._ "In the meantime," he continued, looking at his watch—it was still set to New York time and according to it, Clary shouldn't be arriving at the Institute for another couple hours. _But then, this is Clary,_ he reminded himself. "I'll send a Fire Message to Magnus telling him to keep his mouth shut about the vampire."

"I already did." Alec flushed, and Jace's eyes darted to him in surprise. "Not in those words . . . but, somehow I had a feeling it was what you would want. That and I wanted to make sure he was—that he got out okay."

 _Of course._ "And did he agree?" he asked hesitantly as Alec turned a deeper red, looking highly uncomfortable. Jace knew the two of them were having problems—not that he could admit that he knew—but he also knew that the warlock had already refused to help him keep Clary in New York . . . so it was possible that he and Alec were the last people Magnus wanted to hear from or help.

"His exact words," Alec stammered, "were, _'Tell Jonathan that I will do this, but that it is not being done for him'."_ Alec tried to shrug casually but it came out as a nervous shoulder twitch. "Not sure what he meant by that or why he would assume it was for you . . . but I'm guessing he means that he'll do it for Clary."

"Yeah," Jace said more skeptically than he meant to. "I'm sure that's what he meant." But really, he didn't care what the warlock's reason for keeping his mouth shut was, so long as he kept it shut. And then he looked at his _parabatai,_ who's skin color was slowly returning to normal. His brother always seemed to know what he was thinking or feeling, even when he didn't say so, and Jace would do anything for him. Which was also why he would never understand how his father had been able to cut ties with Luke— _because he's an evil twit._ But Jace would rather die before he let something happen to Alec. And Alec . . . he knew his brother would do the same for him. "Thank you for doing that." Jace said with honest sincerity, unsure if he was thanking him for sending the fire message or if he was thanking him for being his _parabatai_ and putting up with him. "I know it must have been hard for you."

Alec didn't respond right away, and when he did, it had nothing to do with his message to Magnus. "Well, were not out of the fire yet," he said plainly. "We still have to get the bloodsucker back to New York. I'll make sure to mention it at the meeting tomorrow . . . but I don't know how much they'll listen to me. Mom's already tried talking me out of going."

"That's because it would mean admitting her little Alexander is all grown up." Jace teased with mock wisdom. And then he pushed his hair back, his tone becoming serious once more. "But you are going and they will listen to you. They have to. You're an adult—well, kind of—" Alec chucked the apple back at him. Snatching it easily out of the air, Jace tossed it in the trash. "They have to listen to you, Alec. You have to make them."

"Well, that's not asking for a lot or anything."

Jace opened his mouth to reply when Aline walked in. Upon seeing him, she hesitated, her cheeks turning red. But she didn't retreat. Instead, she turned to his brother and smiled wide. It was a pretty smile. "Alec!" Stepping forward, she wrapped him in a hug.

"Oh, are we acknowledging my presence now?" Alec teased, giving her a light squeeze. "You all but ran from me upstairs."

At that, Aline cast mortified eyes to Jace. "Sorry," she said stepping away from Alec. "I forgot I had . . . um . . . something . . ."

"Hey you!" Jace interrupted as he pushed himself off the counter and walked to her, sparing her from trying to come up with an excuse. "Long time no see." He pulled her against his side, giving her a reassuring hug. She laughed awkwardly. "You look good, Aline," Jace continued, stepping away. "I think we really need to stop putting so much time between seeing each other."

"Really?" Aline breathed, looking surprised. And Jace raised his brows. Why was she looking at him like that? They were kind of like family after all, weren't they? Old family friends and all? He looked up at Alec— _why are you looking at me like that, too?_ Had he said something strange? Did he have something on his face? But instead of asking for an explanation, Jace only smiled and shrugged.

"Yeah."

"I'm going to go check on Iz," Alec said abruptly, his eyes darting between Jace and Aline. _Why are you doing that? You're being weird_. _Stop it._

"Because Izzy is suddenly unable to take care of herself?" Jace asked with a subtle smile, his eyes narrowing.

"Um."

And that's all Alec said before he walked out of the Kitchen leaving Jace and Aline alone. Jace raised his brows, watching him go, before casting a look down at the girl standing next to him. "I don't remember him being that jumpy," Aline said, her own brows creasing as she stared at the empty archway he had disappeared through.

"Yeah," Jace agreed slowly, following her gaze. "Well, it has been a couple years since you've seen him. A lot has changed."

"So I've noticed."

Jace's eyes darted back to Aline with surprise. She was staring at him with a soft smile on her face and he immediately felt guilty. He wasn't stupid. He knew that look just as he had known it back when they were in the bathroom. But . . . he couldn't. _Because I'm an idiot._ Smiling awkwardly, Jace moved toward the counter and lifted himself on it, shifting back until he was sitting comfortably.

"So how have you been?" He asked conversationally. Following him, Aline sat next to him, her side against Jace and making him immediately uncomfortable. But he didn't move away. Instead, he watched as she crossed her arms, purposely pressing her breast up as she turned her head toward him. He could see the dark swirling Marks that peeked out from under the swoop neck she wore, and Jace's lips thinned into an unwilling smile at the blatant move before letting out a soft breath of laughter. Even if he had no interest, he was still flattered.

"Okay." She tightened her arms around herself and leaned forward, her eyes never leaving him. He wished they would. "Still trying to figure out how I didn't hear you guys come in."

"Well we didn't exactly announce ourselves," Jace said apologetically. "We accidentally brought a friend into Alicante and he was injured."

"Oh really?" She asked surprised, staring up at the ceiling as if she could see Simon laying in bed. "Is he okay?"

"I don't know." Jace ran his hands through his hair anxiously. "I hope so. My sister—" his eye twitched at the word, "—will be upset if he's not."

Aline caught his hesitation at his word as well, but mistook it for worry. "I heard about your sister," she said consolingly as Jace's body gave a sharp uncontrollable jerk. She patted his leg softly. "I'm sure she'll understand."

 _No. She wont. But you're sweet._ Jace ran his fingers through his hair, his arm brushing against her. "I hope so. It's not exactly as if we're adept at healing vampires—"

Aline was off the counter and across the room within a second. "A vampire?" Her eyes were wide and fearful as she looked up at the ceiling again. "You brought a vampire here? To our house?"

"Aline—" But she was already out the door. "Shit." Jumping down lightly, Jace was out of the kitchen, through the now empty sitting room, and already catching up to her on the stairs. _Sorry, but_ s _peed runes alone can't compete with speed runes and weird unknown experimentation's,_ he thought without humor as his hand circled Aline's arm, spinning her toward him and effectively stopping her. She was one step higher than him, bringing them level, and he could see clearly the look of unease on her face. He smiled blandly. "He's a friend," he started to explain, but Aline was already shaking her head—which was what Jace had feared back in the Accords Hall. Too many Shadowhunters had lived here all their lives, many of whom have never encountered a downworlder before. They would be scared. And fear lead to rash decisions. He should know.

"But Jace—" she cast a nervous glance over her shoulder, staring at the closed door near the top of the stairs. "If it's a vampire . . . shouldn't we . . ."

"What?" Jace asked pointedly, pulling his shoulders back without letting go of her arm. "Kill him? No. That's the last thing we should do." And then he sighed, his hand slipping down her arm until his fingers laced with hers. "Come on," he said gently, stepping past her. "I want to show you something."

"Jace . . ." her voice trailed off hesitantly and Jace threw her a reassuring smile.

"Trust me," he said giving her hand a squeeze. "Like you did in the Brocelind Forest."

Her lips popped open in surprise, and then she smiled shaking her head. "Okay." But when they reached the vampire's room, and Jace open the door, Aline hesitated. "I don't want to go in." She said, and Jace could hear how tense she was. She might be willing to try, but she had her limits. Jace wouldn't push her.

Instead, he lifted the hand that held hers and pointed across the room at the Vampire. "His name is Simon and he . . . he's not a bad person."

"He's not a person at all, Jace." she said quietly, reverting to her training and lessons.

"Maybe not in the way we were taught, but . . ." he shook his head as he tried to explain Simon to Aline. Was he really going to say something nice about him? At least the vampire wasn't awake to hear it. And then Jace cast a suspicious sidelong glance toward the Daylighter. _You'd better not be faking it._ He took a breath. "He's helped us a lot," he said softly, finally letting go of Aline's hand and leaning against the door frame. "In fact, it's how he got turned." _Kind of. If you call him getting turned into a rat, biting a vampire, me saving him, and then him returning to the vampires to get drained later as helping._ "He was my sister's—" his heart twisted, "—friend before that. And they stayed friends afterwards." _And we don't like one another because he's in love with her and so am I . . . which makes it really awkward. So there's also that._ "She would kill me if she knew he was here," he whispered more to himself than to her. "This wasn't part of the plan." And then he shook his head, clearing it and looking back up at Aline. "Anyway, I know that you're not used to seeing downworlders . . . or keeping them as a guest in your home . . . but—" reaching forward, he took her hand, "—I hope you don't mind making an exception just this once. For me?"

Aline said nothing as she stared at Jace thoughtfully. And then she sighed, her eyes glancing at cautiously the vampire in the dimly lit room. Jace watched her with amusement, trying hard not to laugh. _If you only knew how absolutely unnecessary that is—he's the worst vampire ever._ Jace knew this, not just because it was obvious . . . which it totally was . . . but because Raphael had said so as well. And Raphael was what a vampire was supposed to be.

"I don't like it," she said finally.

"I know."

"Do I have to be nice to him?"

The corner of his mouth ticked upward. "No."

"Fine," she sighed in defeat, staring down at the their entwined fingers. "But only cause it's you asking." And then she pulled her hand away and crossed her arms. "But you should know that I'm not all that up to date on proper vampire guest etiquette."

Jace laughed at that, surprising himself and feeling guilty at the same time. "I don't think anyone here is. It's cool—I'll help." She smiled gratefully at him, her eyes traveling curiously down his neck to his chest. _Oops._ "So!" Jace said, slapping his hands together suddenly. "Where should we start?"

If Aline had noticed his discomfort, she didn't comment on it. Instead, she stared back into the dark room as if it were a puzzle. "Oh!" She turned wide eyes to Jace, and pointing at the window. It was covered in sheer lace. "Those wont keep the sun from coming in!" And then she snatched her hand back against her chest, as if she were afraid she had put herself in danger just by having her arm in the vampires room.

Jace decided not to comment on it, choosing instead to stare at the window with a raised a brow. "So?"

"So?" She stood up a bit straighter. "What's the point of keeping him alive this long only to have him burn tomorrow morning? I'll be right back."

Jace watched her shoot down the hallway and around a corner before what she was doing hit him. If he had realized sooner, he'd have tried to stop her. _Oh well._ Shrugging, he moved into the room and took a seat in an empty chair that had been pulled next to the bed. Probably by Izzy. And then he stared at the vampire. Whether the boy died or not, Clary was still going to kill him—Jace's heart pounded at the thought. But at least she would have to wait until he got back to New York to kill him. The thought brought him comfort. Leaning forward, he pressed his elbows into his knees and rested his chin on his clasped hands just as the door opened. Jace looked up, surprised that Aline would be so bold. But it wasn't Aline. It was Isabelle. Her hair was wet, her clothes different. She changed into a white bone corset and a silver skirt, her Marks showing boldly against her skin as they curled up her arms and across her bare shoulders. She stopped with a look of surprise at seeing Jace sitting there. And then she looked around the room as if she thought someone else might be there. When she saw no one, she took another tentative step forward, closing the door behind her.

"How is he?"

Jace cast his eyes from his sister to the unmoving vampire. He raised a brow. "Well," he began slowly. "Short from being unconscious and stabbed and an illegal downworlder in Alicante, I'm sure he's doing great."

"You had no choice," Isabelle sighed, taking a seat casually on the foot of Simon's bed and facing her brother. Jace was sure that if Aline walked in right now, she would jerk Iz away from the vampire out of fear that he might wake.

"Didn't I?" asked Jace, looking at his sister from under his lashes. Something in his voice must have caught her attention, cause Iz reached forward and pried his fingers apart and away from him as she slipped her hand into his.

"Jace, I saw what happened," she said softly. "I saw Simon trip over—" she swallowed, "—over Madeleine. I saw you go after Simon, even though you were surrounded by the Forsaken. You saved his life by bringing him here."

Jace took a deep breath and gently removed his hand. Leaning back in the chair, he chewed softly on his cheek. "Much good I did if they don't send him back to New York."

"They'll send him back," Isabelle said confidently.

"I hope so," he said. He seemed to be saying that a lot lately. He hadn't even realized he had that much hope in him to begin with. "If they don't, Clary—"

"So how's Aline?" Isabelle cut him off flippantly as she pulled her damp hair over her shoulder. Jace stared suspiciously at her and then shrugged in the most noncommittal fashion he possibly could. "Oh come on," Isabelle insisted with a grin. "Alec told me about the chemistry bouncing between you two."

"Alec's an idiot." _A stupid gossiping idiot._ It also explained the look his _parabatai_ had given him in the kitchen.

"Jace." Isabelle admonished, shaking her head. "You have to get over her eventually."

"I don't know what you're talking about." His voice was tight—guarded—as he stared steadily at his sister. But she wasn't listening. When did she ever listen?

"Yes—" she cut herself off as the floorboards creaked out in the hall. Iz and Jace looked toward the door, waiting to see if anyone entered. No one did. It was more than likely someone just passing by, something his sister seemed to agree as she turned back to him. All the same, she lowered her voice when she spoke next. "I get it . . . and it sucks. But if you think you're fooling anyone, you're wrong. We see your pain, Jace—we feel it—"

"You _don't_ get it Iz." Jace cut her off with quiet anger. "You will _never_ get it. So _please_ don't pretend you do." Leaning his head against the back of the chair, his heart was hammering as he stared up at the ceiling, his teeth snapping together. He wished she would shut up. He didn't need her pointing out what he already knew. And no matter what she said, she would never have the displeasure of finding out the person she was in love with was her sibling.

But when he looked at her again, Isabelle looked like he had slapped her, and he instantly regretted his words. Dropping her hands in her lap, she took a breath. "She's not here . . . even though she had _wanted_ to come" her eyes glanced suspiciously to his, but when Jace said nothing, she exhaled. "But who knows . . . maybe that's a good thing. It'll give you the opportunity to at least try to move on." Jace closed his eyes, his body rigid with tension. When Izzy spoke again, it was from farther away and he opened his eyes to see her standing by the door, her hand resting on the handle. "You never know if you don't try."

Jace didn't respond. He didn't have to nor was his sister expecting anything less. With a slight nod she opened the door and took a step back in surprise. Aline was standing there with some heavy black material in her hands.

"Oh, sorry!" she said quickly, her eyes flashing back and forth between Isabelle and Jace. Iz flushed, but Jace just looked on with bland amusement. "I didn't mean to intrude," Aline continued with uncertainty. "I was just getting—" she stared down at the dark fabric she was holding before shoving it out toward Izzy. "—here."

Isabelle, in all her grace, stared at the fabric with bewilderment before turning to her brother. Her eyebrows were damn near off her head. "That's a good look for you Iz. You should wear it more often," he said flatly, pushing himself up out of the chair. "Aline was getting some heavier curtains for Simon's window," he explained, crossing the room. When Iz gave him a bemused smile, the corners of his mouth ticked upward. "You know . . ." Jace prompted in the same manner one would prompt a child when she still didn't catch on. But then, he couldn't blame her—it was easy to forget, given Simon's condition. "For when the sun comes up? She doesn't want the vampire setting the house on fire."

"But Simon doesn't burn in daylight," Isabelle said automatically, turning back to Aline. "Didn't Jace tell you that?"

"Didn't get the chance," Jace shrugged. Not that they were listening. Isabelle still hadn't taken the curtains from Aline, who was staring at the two of them incredulously. She still hadn't moved past the door.

"All vampires burn in the daylight," she said plainly.

"Not him," Isabelle insisted. "I promise. Jace—" she slapped his arm, "—tell her!"

"Owww" Jace drawled out, staring down at his arm pointedly and rubbing it. "Isabelle, you know I bruise like a peach. But Iz wasn't in the mood for his games right now, and she stamped her foot impatiently as she glared at him. _Oh, fine._ He turned to Aline, and shrugged. "It's true. Simon's a special breed." He said it as if he could have been talking about a dog or cat. _Or rat_. But Aline only shook her head, shoving the black out curtains toward him now.

"Then humor me," she said. "Hang them anyway."

Isabelle rolled her eyes but took the material. "Fine," she said, shoving past Jace and heading toward the large window. "But this is completely stupid—Jace help me." Jace moved to her side instantly, and he was sure that he heard Aline gasp softly behind him. But when he looked back, her face was masked as she leaned against the door-frame once more and watched them. Sighing, Jace reached up and removed the curtain rod, handing it to Izzy. Not that he had to—his sister was plenty tall enough. Which is why he knew that she hadn't really called him over there for help.

Casting a covert glance up at Jace, Iz silently slid her eyes back and forth between him and Aline, her brows wagging stupidly. Jace, wishing nothing more than for his sister to knock it off, took a breath and pushed his hair back as he studiously ignored her; which only made Isabelle continue in an over the top fashion. _I hope you're enjoying yourself._ But one look at her was enough to tell him that she was. Glaring out the window instead, he could see the demon towers shining brightly in the navy blue sky. Down below, the witchlight rune-stone street lamps lit the cobbled stone walkways; and even with the window shut, he could hear the water running lazily through the dark canals. _Clary would have liked_ —biting his cheek, he focused back on the task at hand.

When they finished, they turned back toward Aline, who seemed satisfied. She had apparently completely missed the exchange between him and his sister. "Okay," she said with a smile. "What's next in the vampire guest etiquette book?"

Jace ignored Isabelle as her head jerked to him. He ignored her raised brows. And grin. And smug face— _seriously, you need to just stop._ He cast a death glare at his sister, who refused to look abashed. Turning back to Aline, his irritated expression instantly slipping from his face and being replaced with boredom, he chewed on his cheek. She was pretty. She was available. She wasn't related to him _. Ha ha! Strike one._ Not that that should count as a strike. In fact, it should be a good thing. _What the hell is wrong with me?_ "I'm sorry," Jace said suddenly. "I—" Shaking his head, unsure how to finish, he darted out the door being careful not to jostle Aline as he went. He practically ran down the hall, flying down the stairs and into the living room where Sebastian was back and lounging in the same chair he had been before.

Seeing Jace, the boy looked up and smiled. "Where's the fire—"

Jace flipped him off without stopping.

Moving through the kitchen and yanking open the back door, letting it slam shut behind him, he gulped in the fresh Idris air. It was too fresh. _By the Angel,_ _I really do like the pungent smell of New York_. He nearly laughed at the realization before slumping down on the porch steps. Staring up at the night sky, Jace watched the stars. You could see them here in Alicante. All of them—or so it seemed. And there were a lot. He had almost forgotten how beautiful they were. . . .

 _"What are you doing Jonathan?"_

 _Jonathan jumped, looking back at father nervously. He was watching him through the open window. Jonathan had been sitting on the roof of their manor, staring at the night sky . . . which he had never been expressly forbidden to do, but . . . he hadn't asked for permission either. Either way, he thought his father had been asleep. "I'm looking at the stars—there's supposed to be a meteor shower tonight."_

 _"Ah." It was all his father said as he pushed himself through the open window and came to sit next to him. That sat in silence for awhile before his dad spoke again. "Where is Vulpecula?" Jonathan didn't hesitate as he pointed toward the constellation in the northern sky, and his father clapped him on the shoulder. "Very good. And what is it Latin for?"_

 _"Little fox," Jonathan said automatically._

 _His father smiled again. "I'm glad to see that you are retaining your Astronomy lessons." And Jonathan smiled back, happy that his father was pleased and relieved that he wasn't in trouble for sitting on the roof. "Now where is—"_

 _"Father?" And then Jonathan's eyes went wide as he realized what he had done, his stomach twisting nervously. Next to him, his father's jaw tightened at the interruption. "I'm sorry," Jonathan said quickly. But a second later, his father was smiling again._

 _"I will overlook it tonight," his father said slowly. "Though I've noticed it is becoming a rather bad habit of yours, Jonathan."_

 _"I will work harder on not doing it, father. I promise." Jonathan said earnestly._

 _His father waved his words away. "What were you going to say that couldn't wait, then?"_

 _Jonathan hesitated for only a second, before looking up at his father whose blonde hair was only a shade lighter than his own. "It's just . . . I was wondering if . . . if maybe we could just watch the meteor shower? Without the lessons?" And then he flinched back, expecting his father to become angry and yell at him about the importance of his lessons and training. And Jonathan knew that he would agree. To his surprise, the anger never came. Instead his father laughed. It was a nice sound—one Jonathan loved hearing, for it was rare._

 _"All right, Son. We will watch the stars fall tonight." He said, giving Jonathan's shoulder a squeeze. "And then tomorrow, I will give you your gift for your ninth birthday—it is a gift of my choosing this time. I hope you do not mind—"_

 _"—because if you'd rather be alone, I can go back in . . . if-if that's what you'd prefer . . ."_

 _"Jace . . .?"_

"Earth to Jace!"

Jace blinked, the sound of his name pulling him out of the memory. Where the fuck had it even come from anyway? He usually did so good not thinking about the past he shared with his father—his childhood. Shaking his head, he turned in his seat and saw Aline standing behind him. How long had she been there attempting to talk to him, he wondered. "Sorry," he said, rubbing at his eyes—trying desperately to remove the unasked for memory from his mind. "What were you saying?"

Aline frowned. "Just that I could go back in if you'd prefer to be alone."

"Oh." Jace stared down at his hands. They were pale in the glow of the moon. Did he want to be alone? _Well not if I'm going to think of my father, I don't._ Shaking his head, he smiled up at Aline. "It's okay, you can stay."

She smiled and moved to sit beside Jace. "So, I don't want to sound like I was eavesdropping or anything, but—"

Jace let out a soft breath of laughter. "Let me guess, you heard me and Isabelle."

"I know I shouldn't have been listening," she apologized quickly, the words rushing out her mouth. "But it didn't take me long to find the curtains, and when I heard you and Iz in the room talking . . . I didn't want to interrupt. But I also didn't have anywhere else to be and . . . and . . . damn this sound rune!"

Jace really did laugh this time. "Yes, blame your spying on the rune." And then he cocked his head thoughtfully at her. "Smart, actually. I'm going to use that the next time I get caught eavesdropping."

"I wasn't eaves—not intentionally!" she protested quickly. And then she smiled sheepishly. "I didn't hear all of it if that makes you feel any better."

 _Not really._ "And just what _did_ you hear?" Jace asked, not sure he wanted to know the actual answer.

Aline hesitated before saying, "Just enough to know that you had your heart broken." And Jace bit down on his cheek, staring back up at the night sky. She had heard them talking about Clary. His stomach plummeted as recalled the conversation. Luckily, he didn't think they had actually mentioned Clary's name in regards to being the one for which his heart was broken over. Which was good. Because the last thing he needed was anyone else finding out about his pathetic infatuation with his sister. "Listen," she added hastily when he still had not spoken. "I know its none of my business, but for what it's worth . . . I'm sorry. Having your heart broken sucks." _That's an understatement._ "Whoever this girl was, you obviously loved her—" _Love. Present tense, not past. But whatever._ "—so move at your own pace, okay? Don't push yourself to get over her when you're not ready to."

Looking at Aline, Jace smiled with what felt like both amusement and despondency. She thought he was obsessing over some random girl. _I wish it were that easy._ It was sweet—wrong, of course, but sweet. And he went with it. "You sound like you know what it's like to be pushed to move on."

"I—" Aline took a breath, staring down at her hands. "I know what it's like to need to figure some things out— _without_ others trying to figure them out for you." He wanted to ask her to elaborate but judging by the look on her face, he thought it better not to. Her secrets were her own, just as his were. "But," she said exhaling. "Maybe sometimes you need the help of someone else to . . . to figure out what you need or want." She shook her head. "I sound like I'm talking in riddles, don't I?" Jace didn't respond and she sighed. "I don't know, but maybe . . . I mean . . . perhaps we can help each other figure some things out?" When her dark eyes met his golden ones, she smiled timidly. "I'm not trying to push you to move on or get you to hook up with me or anything like that. I'm just saying if—if you want to try."

"And just how would I be helping you?" Jace asked curiously, unable to stop himself.

Aline didn't answer right away. And when she did, it was cryptic. "I just want to test myself."

"So why me?" he persisted. "Why not test yourself with someone else?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. "Maybe it's because I know you. Maybe it's because you're slightly beautiful—"

 _"Slightly?"_ Jace said with mock offense. Oh wait, nope. That was real offense. _Because_ _I'm gorgeous!_

But Aline laughed and bumped her shoulder into him. "Yeah, just slightly." And then she sighed. "Or maybe it's because your safe." _Safe? Now I'm safe? By the Angel what has happened that anyone would call_ me _safe? I'm gonna have to do something utterly stupid now._ "Look," she continued hastily, "I'm not trying to have sex with you or anything. I just think that maybe it'll help you see if you're ready for another relationship. And me . . . it might help me figure out if I can like . . ." her voice trailed off.

Jace stared at her and then shook his head with an incredulous smile. "I'm sorry, but are you . . . are you propositioning me for a fake-not fake trial run of a possible relationship?"

Aline gave out a soft breathe of laughter, her face turning red. "I guess I am."

"Because I'm safe and _slightly_ beautiful?"

"It sounds stupid when you say it."

Jace chewed on his cheek as he looked at her. _You'll only get hurt._ That much was true. Because it would never work. She had to know that. Or at the very least, she had to know there was a very real and undeniable possibility of that. _I don't want to hurt you, too._ But she only stared back at him. Jace sighed. "And what happens when it doesn't work—this proposed relationship, that is?"

"Why?" Aline asked with a sly grin. "Worried you'll fall in love with me?" Jace didn't respond. Not because he didn't know the answer, but because he knew it all too well. Aline shook her head at his silence. "If it doesn't work, then it doesn't work," she said simply. "And that's okay. We go back to being friends. I promise I won't hold it against you anymore than I think you'd hold it against me. But how would either of us know unless we try?" With that, Aline got to her feet and squeezed his shoulder before turning back toward the house. Jace watched her. She was nothing like Clary. She didn't have long red curls or emerald eyes or freckles or an infuriatingly stubborn pout when she wanted something. But maybe that's what he needed—someone so opposite of the girl he was in love with that he didn't think of her. Could he do it? Could he try?

"Aline," he called out, watching as she stopped at the door. Her dark eyes swept back at him curiously. Jace smiled. "The second step of vampire guest etiquette would be snacks. What do you have in the way of blood?"

* * *

 _ **AN:** Hope you all are okay with the added content, seeing as how this doesn't necessarily happen in the books. But I always felt there had to be more to Jace and Aline just seemingly flirting at random in the beginning. And I know we get a small explanation later but it just wasn't enough for me. Anyhoo, as always, a big thank you to all my readers! **Please Review!  
**_


	4. Something Wicked This Way Comes

**~ Chapter Three ~**  
 **Something Wicked This Way Comes  
**

When Jace woke the next morning, his mind immediately went to Clary as it always did. She was safe in New York and more than likely incredibly pissed off at having missed the Portal. Because he was sure that she had found out by now. _But you're safe._ It was with that knowledge that he was even able to function. According to his watch, it was one in the morning— _yep, she definitely knew they had left without her_ —but judging by the light peeking in through the window, he knew that couldn't be right. Because he was in Idris. He really needed to reset the time. He also hadn't slept well, as was normal, and Jace wondered if his brother had noticed his tossing and turning. But when he turned to the identical twin bed next to his, he saw that Alec was already gone. Of course he was. The Clave had wanted to have their meeting as early as possible. Shaking his head, he threw back the blankets.

It didn't take him long to dress, and as he was making his bed he saw the glass flask sitting on the nightstand hidden behind a picture frame. He and Aline had pulled out just about every package of raw meet they could find and drained them of as much blood as they could. She had wanted to put the flask in the fridge to keep it fresh, but Jace had declined, saying that when a vampire drank blood it was not usually cold. _Simon._ Unzipping his jacket, he stashed the flask quickly in one of his many inside pockets before jerking the zipper back up and leaving the room. He hoped the vampire was awake. If not, if he could be doing better—you know, at least not on the verge of death anymore—that'd be great. His stomach twisted at the thought as he left his room and made his way down the steps, onto the second floor landing. Maryse was standing there, blocking his path.

"Jace," she said, staring at him with those eyes that were exactly like Alec's when he was both agitated and nervous. And Jace stopped, biting on the inside of his cheek as he waited for what she had to say. It must have been important if she had come herself to fetch him herself, instead of sending someone. Plus, it was also the first time he had seen her since she had been covered in the vampire's blood, trying desperately to save him, as she sent Jace out to shower. _Why_ did _you do that? You know I'd have been fine being in there, just as Alec and Izzy were. So why send_ me _out?_ He didn't ask though. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know the answer. But the longer he stood there with Maryse, the harder it became to look at her without feeling some kind of guilt. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe bun and she was wearing a dark grey tailored pinstripe pantsuit—which was not unusual for her. No, what was disconcerting and had Jace feeling guilty, was that she looked like she had aged in those few short hours apart. The lines on her face were deeper than he remembered, lips thinner; even her face was paler than it had once been, and Jace could see the tell tale signs of not sleeping, for he wore them too. "I would like to speak to you downstairs please."

Jace swallowed. "I was just going to see—"

"The vampire can wait," she said curtly. Turning on her heel, she motioned Jace ahead of her and then followed as he went.

The living room was a cluster-fuck. Aline was there, sitting on one of the large couches next to Sebastian, and Isabelle was seated in the chaise lounge. Patrick, Aline's father, was standing next to Alec. He looked like a more masculine version of his daughter, though their body frames were surprisingly close in size, save for a few differences. And every single one of them looked up the moment Jace and Maryse entered—the room becoming suspiciously quiet.

"I don't need an Intervention." Jace quipped immediately at the upturned faces, and much to the confusion of the Aline and her father. "I promise I'll stop." Everyone else, Sebastian included, smirked or rolled their eyes with agitation.

"Well, damn," Sebastian grinned. "And here I had written out my letter and everything."

 _"You_ don't know me well enough to write out a letter." Jace said with rude pointedness. "So I probably wouldn't listen to you anyway." And then he turned accusing eyes to his _parabatai._ "And I thought _you_ were all going to the Gard for the Council meeting." _As in, why are you here instead of there convincing the Clave to send the vampire back?_

But it wasn't Alec who answered. It was Patrick. "Well," he began, casting a cautious glance at Maryse, who had moved to stand on the other side of her son, before looking back at Jace. "Given the recent events of your arrival— _yours_ especially—some things have changed."

"What do you mean?" Jace asked, his body filling with the tension that he kept out of his face.

"He means," Maryse began, "that you showed up here with a downworlder bleeding all over you—a vampire that had no business coming to Alicante."

"A vampire that would have died if I hadn't brought him," Jace corrected irritably. "A vampire who may still die anyway."

"Something I'm sure the Clave is hoping happens," said Izzy bitterly.

"Save it, Isabelle," Maryse sighed. She sounded exhausted, and Jace wondered if she had slept well. "I get that you—all of you—have some sort of sentimental attachment toward the vampire, but you have to realize how bad this looks."

"Is that what you're worried about?" Isabelle asked, getting abruptly to her feet. And Jace took a subtle step away as he sensed one of her fits coming on. "How you _look?_ Not the fact that Simon tried to help us—tried to help _me._ Or the fact that he was injured when doing so—" her voice was rising rapidly, "— _Or_ the fact that Jace had no choice but to do what he did!"

Alec took a step toward his sister, always the peacekeeper. "Iz—"

"Shut it!" She snapped at him, rounding back on her mother. "You know what? If looking good means treating downworlders like dirt, then I don't want to look good!" And with that, she turned and ran upstairs, her dark hair whipping behind her.

Jace watched her disappear. She was right of course, and as he met his _parabatai's_ gaze, he knew that Alec felt the same. Maybe he was even thinking of Magnus. Hell, even Sebastian was staring after her curiously, like he thought she might have a point. Shaking his head, Jace smiled at the shock on Aline and Patrick's faces. "Izzy gets a bit . . . passionate."

"I remember." Patrick smiled back, the amusement in his voice unmistakable. At least he wasn't mad.

And then Jace looked back at Maryse. "So what's changed?" he asked. "Why can't they just Portal him back to New York?"

"Because they still haven't decided if it was really an unavoidable occurrence." Maryse said flatly. "Malachi thinks that there might have been a different option, but that you chose not to take it."

 _Are you kidding me? They think I brought him here on purpose? Of course they did._ "Well, then I will go talk to them." Jace said through clenched teeth.

Maryse sighed. "I don't think that would help."

"Why not?" he shot back at her. But she avoided his gaze, looking uncomfortable. In fact, they all were now—everyone but Sebastian—and Jace bit the inside of his cheek, the answer slapping him in the face. "Ah," he said cooly. "Because of who my father is—and what's the word of Valentine's son worth, right?"

"Something like that," Maryse said in a strained voice. Nearby, Sebastian shifted.

"Well, I believe you," the Penhallow cousin said solemnly. "You didn't exactly get to choose your father, now did you? And it's not like you're _loyal_ to him, or you wouldn't be here now."

Jace stared blankly at Sebastian, whose dark eyes watched him thoughtfully in return. _I don't like you._ And yet, he also knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. _All the same,_ "A lot of good your believing me does, if no one else feels the same."

"We _all_ feel the same, Jace." Aline spoke for the first time since he entered, her eyes sweeping the room and glaring defiantly at everyone as if daring them to disagree with her. No one did. Jace smiled gratefully at her, but it slipped away quickly.

"This is ridiculous," Maryse said suddenly, throwing her hands up. "Besides, I'm the Head of the Institute, and Malachi thinks it would be best if I explain the fact that the vampire's being here was _not_ intended, but unavoidable—"

"That's all well and good, but they're not exactly thrilled with you either, Maryse," Patrick pointed out, though not unkindly. "Malachi and the Inquisitor—"

"Aldertree may be pompous," Maryse cut in, "but I do not think he is above listening to reason." _Yes, because the last Inquisitor wasn't above listening to reason either,_ Jace thought irritably as she continued. "It's Malachi that is making waves. Do not think I don't know why he is acting like this."

"Mom," It was Alec, catching Jace's eyes before turning to his mother. "If you have to explain the vampire's presence here, then I can—"

 _"You,"_ Maryse cut him off, "are needed here." Her tone was brusque, and Jace got the feeling that they might have been arguing recently. Which was weird considering Alec rarely ever argued with his mother.

Crossing his arms, Alec brought his hand to his mouth and chewed silently on his thumb nail. He looked irritated. "I have to be there just as you do. I'm eighteen—"

"Which is why you're needed here, _Alexander." Uh oh. It's never good when your mother uses your first name like that._ "You are to stay here as ordered—" _Wait, no. He needs to be at the meeting!_ "Someone has to be in charge." At that Jace raised his eye, feeling defensive. Alec wasn't allowed to go because he was in charge here? Really? That was bullshit! _I don't need to be babysat._ Before he could say any of this, however, Alec lowered his hand, his eyes blazing.

"Fine." Staring at Jace one last time, he shoved past his mother and disappeared down one of the halls. _And then there were five._

Sighing, Maryse looked at Patrick. "I think I should go speak with my son. But then I'll be ready when you are."

Patrick nodded. "Yeah, Jia's waiting for me. And then he cast an adoring eye down at his daughter. "I expect the house will still be standing when we return? Assuming the vampire doesn't wake and then burst into flames, setting the house alight, that is."

Jace sighed over-loud. "He doesn't burn in the sun—"

"Yes, so I've heard." Patrick said, a smile playing on his lips. "But until I can witness this for myself, please do try and keep him away from the windows during the day."

Meeting Aline's eyes, Jace saw she was hiding a grin and shaking her head. "Assuming he even wakes up, you mean?" she asked, looking up at her father.

But Patrick didn't answer. Instead, they all set about on their tasks at hand. Well, those that had tasks anyway. Sebastian, giving some sort of lame explanation that Jace didn't really listen to, got up and disappeared into the kitchen. Jace stared after him, biting the inside of his cheek. The boy had only ever been nice to him since they arrived, and yet . . . he shook his head. Maybe he was being unfair. He was, after all, high strung at the moment. But did anyone really expect otherwise? He didn't like this—any of it. He didn't like waiting. And he especially didn't like the implication that he couldn't be trusted because of who he was. But he had also expected nothing less and felt vindicated for having tricked Clary into staying back in New York. Turning, he saw Patrick pulling on his jacket. Jace had started to move toward him when Aline blocked his path.

"They're about to leave," she said, watching her father. As if on cue, Maryse appeared from around the corner and walked up to them. Whatever she and Alec had spoken about, had left her flushed.

"Jace," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I really think it would be best if you stayed here until we get this figured out."

"No problem," Jace shrugged her away. "Besides, we wouldn't want _Valentine's son_ going and terrorizing the residents of Alicante, after all. Now would we."

Maryse eyes clouded, her lips pulling into a thin line. "That's not it—"

"It doesn't matter," Jace cut her off. "Just promise me that if the vampire survives, you'll get him sent back to New York."

Maryse hesitated, looking back at Patrick as if for help. But Aline's father was busy giving his daughter a hug. When she looked back at Jace, she tried smiling. It looked painful. "I will . . . try my best."

And with that, Jace watched as Patrick and Maryse left. He stood there for who knows how long, staring at the closed door. It wasn't until he felt a small warm hand slip into his that he looked away, expecting for one crazy moment to see Clary standing next to him. It was Aline. And his heart lurched at the mistake he had made as he stared down at their entwined fingers; she gave him a reassuring squeeze. He was supposed to try moving on—see if he could. And yet, even now, he knew he would give anything for it be Clary's hand in his, which, admittedly, made moving on all the more difficult. _I have to try harder,_ he told himself. And then he lifted his free hand, intending to push back a strand of Aline's short hair that had fallen in her eyes, but stalled. He couldn't bring himself to do it. He covered by pushing his own hair back instead.

"I'm gonna go check on the vampire," he said lamely, disentangling his hand gently from hers. She didn't look upset, which was good, and he quickly took the stairs two at a time. At the top of the landing, Jace heard voices coming from the vampire's room and picked up his pace, stopping outside the partially opened door.

"The Forsaken _stuck his knife into me?_ Where?" It was Simon, and Jace felt a severe swell of relief engulf him. It was then that he realized for the first time how much he had truly thought the vampire wouldn't make it.

The voice that responded was Izzy's. "I'll show you." And then there was a long pause and Jace's curiosity got the better of him. He silently pushed the door open. Isabelle was sitting in the chair next to the vampire with her hands running tenderly across his bared stomach while Simon watched both startled and perplexed. Jace shook his head and leaned against the door frame, still unseen by either of them. He couldn't even pretend he was surprised with Izzy. She was always like this. "Here," she breathed softly. "Is there any pain?"

Simon shook his head spastically and Jace rolled his eyes. "N-no." _Don't mind me. I'm just standing right here . . . apparently wearing the Rune of Invisibility._ "It doesn't hurt."

 _Oh for the love of the Angel—_ "But my eyes do," Jace announced with annoyed amusement as they both jumped and looked at him, Izzy hastily jerking Simon's shirt down in the process. With satisfaction, Jace took a step forward, his smile growing wider as he shut the door behind him. "Molesting the vampire while he's too weak to fight back, Iz? I'm pretty sure that violates at least one of the Accords."

Isabelle's eyes blazed as she glared up at her brother. "I'm just showing him where he got stabbed," she objected, quickly pushing the chair back with a loud scrape. But Jace just stared at her dubiously. _Because apparently just telling him would have been too hard? Figured he'd have never been able to find his own stomach?_ "What's going on downstairs?" Iz continued flippantly, lowering her gaze to her hands and checking her nails. "Is everyone still freaking out?"

His eyes snapped to the vampire at her question, the grin disappearing. "Maryse has gone to the Gard with Patrick," he said tersely, slowly meeting Izzy's eyes once more. "The Clave is in session and Malachi thought it would be better if she—" _not me, mind you, because I'm Valentine's son,_ "—explained—" _the vampire's gloriously untimely arrival,_ "—in person." Isabelle stared down at her hands in her lap, the corner of her lips tugging down. Jace knew without asking that she was thinking about how she had yelled at her mother.

"Explained what?" Simon asked staring back and forth between the two of them, and both Jace and Izzy glanced cautiously at each other. It was one of those looks that were easy to read. Should we tell him the whole truth or just part of the truth? They both knew that the Vampire was the type of person who did not like others getting in trouble for him, but at the same time . . . _you came to the Institute._ Jace chewed thoughtfully on his cheek. _You didn't have to, but you did. And it's for that reason that you're here . . . it's my fault. But it's also yours._

He decided to go with the whole truth. "Explained _you."_ he said after a pause. "Explained why we brought a vampire with us to Alicante, which is, by the way, expressly against the Law." _Not that I had a choice, but I couldn't very well leave you for the Forsaken. A certain redheaded unrequited love of mine would have frowned on it._

But Simon just stared, his eyes getting wider by the second. "To Alicante?" he echoed finally, his head darting between Jace and Iz like a ping pong ball. "We're in Alicante?" He nearly yelled it that time, his voice hysterical. Jace stared at his sister in surprise _—you haven't told him?—_ but she was busy looking at Simon fretfully. He was sure she would have told him. But then, Jace hadn't expressly heard her tell him, either . . . and you know what they say about when you assume. But now the Vampire was doubling over, his hands wrapped around his midsection as he gasped for _—oh come on, you don't even breathe. Don't you think you're being slightly melodramatic? I should know!_

Jace rolled his eyes as Isabelle, ripe with worry, reached for the blood sucker. "Simon!" But the vampire jerked away from her as if she were wielding a stake. Throwing an alarmed glance up at her brother (who shrugged benignly), Iz focused her attention slowly back on Simon. "Are you all right?"

"Go away, Isabelle." But even as he said it, Jace could hear the pain and regret in the vampire's voice. It was nothing compared to the hurt on his sister's face, however, and Jace felt a sudden brotherly urge to protect his sister. It was doused the moment the daylighter met his eyes. "Make her go," Simon begged wretchedly. He was actually begging him—the one person the vampire would rather die than beg for anything

Before he could move into action, however, Isabelle was already on her feet, glaring daggers at the vampire. Jace supposed it was better than actually stabbing him with daggers—something he knew she had hidden somewhere on her body. She always did. "Fine, I'll go. You don't have to tell me twice." She snapped, her tone laced with anger and hurt as she bolted from the room. Today was just not her day, Jace thought as he watched her go.

Taking a breath, he turned a blank eye back to Simon. "What's going on?" he asked without sounding as if he really cared. "I thought you were healing?"

But the vampire was still rocking in the bed. Jace made to reach for him—But Simon threw up his hand and waved him away frantically. "It's not Isabelle," he gasped, his head shaking. Jace raised a brow. "I'm not hurt—" the vampire continued desperately, his face flushing crimson. "I'm just . . . hungry. I lost blood, so—I need to replace it."

 _Ah, so that's the reason—_ Jace felt like he should have known that might be the cause of his outburst. He also couldn't help but wonder how weird it would be to know that you couldn't replenish your own blood supply and had to rely on getting it somewhere else. Not that he could ask the vampire. Jace had a feeling that that particular question was one of those things only a real friend could ask—and they were hardly bosom buddies. A smile played on his lips, but in the end, all he said was, "Of course."

"Screw you, Wayland." Simon shot back irritably.

Jace's brows shot up. "Wayland, is it?" he asked more amused than before. _Not Morgenstern?_ They both knew that's what his name really was, and honestly, he thought the vampire would have preferred to use it as a reminder of his relation to—his heart twisted painfully—someone. Jace shook his head, keeping the smile on his face as he began to unzip his jacket.

Seeing this, Simon reared back. "No!" And Jace's smile faltered as he hesitated, his brow cocking upward with bewilderment. But the vampire only shook his head, continuing to gasp—something Jace still thought was ridiculous and strange, considering he didn't need to breathe. "I don't care how hungry I am. I'm not—drinking your blood—again."

Jace tried and failed to keep from smiling this time; he could feel it winning. Did the vampire seriously think that _that's_ what was meant by him unzipping his Jacket? "Like I'd let you." _No, we already played that game, vampire._ Reaching into his jacket, Jace removed the flask of blood from his inside pocket and held it out to him. "I thought you might need this," he explained derisively. "I squeezed the juice out of a few pound of raw meat in the kitchen. It was the best I could do."

Simon snatched the flask away with shaking hands.

Watching without emotion, Jace crossed his arms as the vampire fumbled with the stopper and then tilted it to his lips. He had thought that watching the vampire drink blood would be disgusting. He had been wrong. In fact, Jace didn't feel one way or the other about it. But then . . . given the past and current circumstances, he wondered if anything would be able to disgust him anymore.

"Ugh." Simon said, lowering the now empty flask. He had the face of someone who had just tasted something extremely sour. "Dead blood."

Jace's eyes shined with condescending mirth. "Isn't all blood dead?"

"The longer the animal whose blood I'm drinking has been dead, the worse the blood tastes," Simon explained with a sigh. "Fresh is better."

"But you've never drunk fresh blood, have you?" Jace asked slowly, his eyes narrowing as Simon raised his own brows and his face burned bright red. And then the vampire's gaze slipped to Jace's throat and _—Ah._ _Obviously I wasn't including that particular—_ "Well, aside from mine, of course," he added when Simon continued to stare hungrily at his pulsing neck. "And I'm sure mine was fan-tastic." Jace grinned at the boy, who looked up surprised and embarrassed—the look a child might get if caught with their hand in the cookie jar. The vampire shook his head irritably

"There's something very wrong with you." Simon mumbled, setting the now empty flask down on the nearby nightstand. "Mentally, I mean." _Oh you have no idea. Jace's grin widened. I could send a therapist running for their money with the kind of mental issues I have._ But he said nothing. He only watched as Simon threw the blankets off of himself and turned to sit on the edge of the bed, his feet planted firmly on the ground. "So I'm in Idris?"

"Alicante, to be specific." Jace corrected. "The capital city. The only city, really." Walking to the heavy blackout curtains, he pulled them aside and basked in the golden sunlight that poured through the window before pushing it open and allowing the outside breeze to enter the stale bedroom. He cast a glance back at Simon, who was staring at the dark fabric curiously. "The Penhallow's didn't really believe us—" Jace said in way of explanation to what he thought might be an unasked question as he followed the vampire's gaze. "—That the sun wouldn't bother you. They put these blackout curtains up," _Or rather, Aline had me and Isabelle do it . . . because well, you're a vampire and she didn't trust you not to try to eat her if you woke while she was in your room_ —not that he told Simon that. He didn't think the boy needed to hear just yet how much everyone here already hated him. Besides, the vampire would find out soon enough.

Taking a silent breath, Jace stared back out the window. Alicante—the city of glass. The sun was reflecting serenely off the buildings, creating a euphoric peaceful glow about it. But Jace knew that right now, it was anything but peaceful. Not with Valentine's impending arrival, and not with a vampire running amok. Granted, Simon wasn't actually running amok. Or really, running anywhere. Not that the Clave knew that, by the way they were acting. All the same, he thought the vampire might enjoy the view. He knew Clary would have if she were here. She would have pointed out the different colors reflecting from the canal and stained glass windows, giving them names so beyond ordinary that Jace would have been forced to stare in dumbfounded amusement. Like that color there . . . she would insist that it wasn't yellow, but chardonnay. And that red was actually more of a cherry rose. Giving his head a sharp jerk, he turned to the vampire and gestured out the window. "You should look."

Simon was next to him in less than a second, and Jace heard the almost inaudible catch in the vampire's throat as he took in the view of the city. Of the canals and bridges and trees and mountains and— "Those are the demon towers," Jace said pointing out the tall silvery-white circular buildings sporadically placed through the city. They surpassed every other building in Alicante. "They control the wards that protect the city. Because of them, no demon can enter Alicante." Next to him, the vampire took a slow breath. _You do realize that's unnecessary, right?_ _That you really don't need to breathe?_ But then, who knew? Maybe he did. It wasn't like Simon was a normal vampire or anything. Jace also wasn't sure why the fact that he kept doing so bothered him as much as it did. It wasn't like the vampire was hurting anyone by pretending to breathe. Annoying or not, he supposed that it was his choice. Next to him, Simon continued to stare out the window silently.

"Tell me," he said after a long pause, and Jace could feel his eyes on him. "That bringing me here was an accident. Tell me that this wasn't somehow apart of you wanting to stop Clary from coming with you."

Jace bit the inside of his cheek irritably. The Clave thought he brought the stupid vampire as some sort of . . . what, he didn't know. Simply because he was Valentine's son, probably. Alec thought he brought him to get Clary to come. And now, the vampire was suggesting he had brought him to keep Clary away. _And you all are fucking wrong._ With a sharp intake of breath, he spoke in the most sarcastic voice he could muster, taking out his anger unfairly on Simon simply for having the unfortunate luck of being the third one to accuse him of ulterior motives. "That's right," he said scathingly. "I created a bunch of Forsaken warriors, had them attack the Institute and kill Madeleine and nearly kill the rest of us, just so that I could keep Clary at home. And lo and behold, my diabolical plan is working."

"Well, it is working," Simon said simply, unfazed by his snide tone. "Isn't it?"

"Listen, vampire," Jace snapped, rounding on him. "Keeping Clary from Idris was the plan. Bringing you here was not the plan. I brought you through the Portal because if I'd left you behind, bleeding and unconscious, the Forsaken would have killed you."

But Simon was shaking his head. "You could have stayed behind with me—"

"They would have killed us both," Jace cut him off pointedly, leaving no room for argument. _Seriously? Why is this even being questioned? You were dying! I saved you. Be grateful you stupid fucking leech._ Jace shook his head with a jerk. "I couldn't even tell how many of them there were, not with the hellmist. Even I can't fight off a hundred Forsaken."

The vampire smirked. "And yet, I bet it pains you to admit that."

"You're an ass," Jace said flatly, staring at him, "even for a downworlder." _In fact, you're all assholes and I don't want to be your friend anymore_ _—not that I was your friend to begin with, but yeah . . . I'm retracting my offer of unfriendly friendship. I do something nice . . . and see where it gets me._ "I saved your life and I broke the Law to do it. Not for the first time, I might add. You could show a little gratitude."

 _"Gratitude?"_ The vampire echoed incredulously, and Jace raised a brow at him, forcing disinterest to paint his face. "If you hadn't dragged me to the Institute, I wouldn't be here. I never agreed to this."

 _Ah, but that's where you're wrong._ "You did," Jace said testily _. Or have you forgotten that part already, daylighter?_ He supposed being stabbed by a Forsaken could have that effect. But then so could being an ass hat. "When you said you'd do anything for Clary. This—" he opened his arms wide, "—is anything." _It may have been my fault that you're here, but that's only because you chose to meet me in the first place. Isn't free will a bitch?_ And then Jace watched as Simon began to turn an unnatural shade of red, his mouth opening. But whatever he was going to say, was drowned out by a quick rapping on the bedroom door.

"Hello?" It was Izzy. And yet the door remained closed as she yelled through it—a good sign that she was still upset. "Simon, is your diva moment over?" _Yep, still mad_. "I need to talk to Jace."

Jace cocked his head, his eyes never leaving the vampire as he gauged the vampire's mood. He looked sick, but not sick. Definitely furious. _Good. So am I._ Jace shrugged. "Come in, Izzy."

And then they both turned as the door was thrown open and Isabelle entered, her eyes flashing angrily to Simon only briefly before finding Jace. "Alec is going to the Gard," she announced, and Jace felt his stomach flip. Maryse had told him to stay here. It wasn't like Alec to disobey his mother's wishes. But before he could say anything, Iz flipped her raven hair back over her shoulder. "He wants to talk to you about Simon before he leaves. Can you come downstairs?"

"Sure." It was all Jace could think to say without giving away what he was really thinking as he took quick strides toward the door. But the sound of movement behind him brought him to a stop. Whirling, he glared at the vampire, who seemed intent on going with them— _Nope. The last time you decided to follow me, it didn't end so well._ "You stay here." _And actually fucking stay this time!_

"No," Simon snapped back, and Jace had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from yelling at the stupid blood sucker. "If you're going to be discussing me, I want to be there for it."

 _No you don't. You want to go down there and hold it over me that I kept Clary from coming. Maybe even tell them the truth. I wont let you . . ._ Jace could feel his blood boiling as his temper flared at the thought. And then he took a breath. Could Simon really be that stupid? He loved Clary—Jace's stomach twisted. But it was true. And the daylighter wanted what was best for her just as Jace did. It took great strength, but Jace finally managed a forced calm. He even managed a smile. Or maybe it was a grimace. Either way, it didn't reach his eyes. "Fine," he said slowly, his voice an icy blade. "Come on downstairs, vampire. You can meet the whole happy family." _But if I so much as think you're about to mention the truth about Clary, I will rip you flailing and screaming from the room. And you'll be lucky if that's all I do._

One by one, the three of them walked in silence, Simon in the front, followed by Isabelle and then Jace. They were moving slowly, and he could feel his impatience growing each time the vampire stopped to stare at something; and each time Iz would stop to explain it. _Keep moving,_ he wanted to snap. He just couldn't figure out what was so amazing that it warranted a stop every few steps. But it wasn't until the vampire hesitated over-long at the painting of _'Death of Ryū,'_ that Jace really began to grow frustrated. Leaning against the wall with agitation he glared at the painting—one he knew well, for his father had made him recite the story over and over as a child. . . .  
 _  
"One more time, Jonathan."_

 _Jonathan took a breath, eager to please his father. He made sure to enunciate each word clearly as his father preferred. "It is told that after Jonathan Shadowhunter drank the blood of the Angel, Raziel, he and his followers set out in search of those who would be willing to fight demons beside them in order to protect the human race, and offering the Mortal Cup only to those that were deemed worthy. Crossing into unfamiliar territory, they soon heard tales of a small village that had been plagued by a dragon. The dragon in question, they would learn, had been kidnapping the villagers and their children and turning them into monsters of ungodly horror to wreak havoc upon those remaining. Jonathan Shadowhunter and his companions went to investigate and found only unimaginable death and destruction. But there, hidden away inside a barely standing hut, was what remained of the villagers: a teenage girl and her two younger siblings."_

 _"And were the Shadowhunters able to communicate with this girl?" Jonathan's father asked, stepping in front of him with his arms clasped loosely behind his back._

 _"Not at first," Jonathan answered obediently. "For they did not speak the same language. But through patience, art, and gestures, they were finally able to understand the girl. The dragon, whom the villagers had named Ryū, was planning to return that night. And the girl, barely awake, did not think they would survive the final assault."_

 _"Why not?"_

 _"Because she had spent the last seven nights fighting the dragon and it's horrors alone. She was exhausted and broken. But Jonathan Shadowhunter, seeing something in the girl, produced the Mortal Cup and explained to her what it was and what it could do by giving her the ability to defeat the dragon once and for all. The girl was skeptical at first, but she drank from the Cup and became China's first Shadowhunter. Together, with Jonathan Shadowhunter and his followers, she finally killed the dragon that had taken all but her siblings."_

 _"And was it a dragon?"_

 _"No. It was a demon—one with the same physical traits as a dragon. It is how the name for the Dragonidae came to be; so that Shadowhunters could separate the now extinct dragons with the still very much not extinct dragon-like demons . . ."_

Jace shook his head irritably, the memory slipping away. This was the second time he had gotten lost in a memory with his father. He didn't like it. At all. And he wanted it to stop. Looking up, he watched as Isabelle, explaining about the painting and the Penhallows, took a step down the stairs, her finger tracing the monstrous dragonidae on the canvas. Simon was watching too, and Jace sighed overloud. "Move it along," he snapped. "We're not taking a historical tour here." _Regardless of what my mind seems to think._

In the living room, Alec was standing near the fireplace as he was before with Sebastian and Aline on the couch this time. Somewhere, someone had put music on the old victrola, and it was playing softly through the room. Jace leaned against the banister and watched as his _parabatai,_ pulling on his gloves, scowled at seeing the vampire leading their merry little band of misfits. But it was Aline who spoke first.

"Is that the vampire?" She asked, her gaze on Simon instantly with cautious curiosity. Jace shrugged noncommittally. _Who else would it be?_ But if she saw him shrug she didn't say anything. She was still looking at Simon like she was trying to decide whether she was going to stake him or not. "I've never really been this close to a vampire before—not one I wasn't planning to kill, at least." And Jace snorted just as Sebastian side overloud, both of whom she ignored, her head tilting to the side speculatively. "He's cute for a downworlder."

 _I don't know, I think he was cuter as a rat,_ Jace thought passively casting a glance at Simon just as Sebastian got to his feet. "You'll have to forgive her," he said in regard to his cousin. "She has the face of an angel and the manners of a Moloch demon." And then he smiled and extended his hand toward the vampire, causing Jace's eyes to narrow suspiciously. He knew Sebastian had come from an Institute where they were a bit more lax about the presence of downworlders; but he doubted many Shadowhunters—lax or not—were clamoring to shake hands with them. Before Jace could vocalize this, the boy was already introducing himself as the vampire shook his hand. "I'm Sebastian. Sebastian Verlac. And this is my cousin, Aline Penhallow." Letting go of Simon, he motioned at his cousin to stand. "Aline—"

But Aline was shaking her head, pushing stubbornly back against the couch cushions and away from Simon like she thought he might attack her. "I don't shake hands with downworlders," she pointed out firmly, her hands tightly wrapped around herself. _Well, I did say she didn't have to be nice to him._ To be honest, Jace was just impressed that she hadn't gone running from the room yet. And then her wide dark eyes met her cousin's. "They don't have souls, you know. Vampires."

Jace's lips ticked upward at her honesty just as Sebastian frowned disapprovingly. Strangely, the smiled being wiped from the boys face, pleased Jace. Sebastian turned on his cousin. "Aline—"

"It's true," she insisted, refusing to apologize. "That's why they can't see themselves in mirrors, or go in the sun."

 _Not this again,_ Jace thought with a roll of his eyes as he met Alec's gaze. His _parabatai_ was shaking his head just as Izzy sighed. Simon also seemed to be thinking along the same lines as the rest of them. Spreading his arms wide, the daylighter took step after step backward until he was standing directly in front of the window, bathing in the golden sunlight that streamed through. Jace watched without emotion, though his hand did subconsciously rub his neck where he knew two small circular scars sat. He still couldn't get over that it was his blood that had changed the vampire—not that anyone but a very small few knew that. But it did make him wonder what the his father had done to him that would allow such a change in a downworlder as to make a vampire into a daylighter.

Simon, however, only stared at Aline. Her eyes were wide as she sucked in her breath. Sebastian had been surprised by the vampire's actions, as well—or rather lack of action. _Don't you know you're supposed to be burning in an eternal blaze of hellish glory?_ Jace silently admonished Simon as he watched bemused. _Rude, really . . . not to do what Shadowhunters expect of you._ It was Sebastian that recovered first, sitting on the love seat opposite of the couch he had been sitting. "So it's true," he breathed, casting a gaze at Alec. But when Jace's _parabatai_ said nothing, Sebastian looked back at Simon, his head shaking slowly. "The Lightwoods said, but I didn't think—"

"That we were telling the truth?" Jace shot at him accusingly, though his face was calm. Bored, even. _Of course you didn't. But—_ "We wouldn't lie about something like this. Simon's . . ." _an ass hat,_ ". . . unique."

"I kissed him once," Isabelle announced casually, and Jace and Alec simultaneously rolled their eyes, casting each other covert grins in the process. Simon blushed, but said nothing. Only Aline seemed caught off guard by this news. Her face was painted with shock as she stared at Izzy.

"They really do let you do whatever you want in New York, don't they?" She said in terrified awe, her eyes finding Jace's. He didn't comment—even if what she said wasn't entirely true. _There are, in fact, some things they frown on you doing in New York. Like a downworlder. Our dear little Isabelle just doesn't care. Oh, and your sister—they frown on that too. Though I'm pretty sure they frown on that kind of thing in the mundane world as well—stop._ Jace tried hard to focus on Aline. She was shaking her head, causing her dark hair to fall into her eyes as she looked at Iz. "The last time I saw you, Izzy, you wouldn't have even considered—"

"The last time we all saw each other," Alec cut in protectively. "Izzy was eight. Things change." _Yes, like what she's willing to consider doing and not doing with downworlders._ And then Jace cast a sidelong glance at his brother. _And what you're willing to do or not do with a downworlder—not that you would admit to such fraternization._ All the same, Aline decided it was best to not push it and fell silent. Looking around, Alec's lips grew thin as he pulled his shoulders back. "Now," he continued, "Mom had to leave here in a hurry, so someone has to take her notes and records up to the Gard for her." Alec met Jace's eyes, and he could see and hear the unspoken plan his brother had formulated. It was his way into the Gard. Jace gave the subtlest of nods, letting Alec know he understood, but kept his face clean of emotion as he crossed his arms. "I'm the only one who's eighteen, so I'm the only one who can go while the Clave is in session."

Isabelle snorted irritably. "We know," she said, dropping gracefully onto the small sofa next to Sebastian, her eyes bouncing shamelessly between Simon and Penhallow cousin as her corset pushed up her breast and her silver skirt fanned out around her. But then she glared at her brother. "You've already told us that, like, five times."

But Alec ignored her, meeting his brother's eyes instead. "Jace," he began, taking a step toward the entryway. "You brought the vampire here, so you're in charge of him. Don't let him go outside."

 _Well, no shit._ But Jace didn't say that—at least not in those words. He knew what Alec was doing and he was grateful for it. Jace also knew he would have to play along so as to avoid suspicion of what they were really doing. Sighing and lacing his tone with false irritation, he spoke as if he'd rather be anywhere else but there—which wasn't hard to do given it was partially true. _"That's_ what you brought me down here to tell me?" Crossing the room, he took a seat next to Aline on the couch, his side pressing against hers. And when he looked at her, he saw she was smiling. It made him feel guilty and he instantly turned his focus back on Alec. "I wouldn't have done that anyway." _Not until you come back and let me now that the Clave agreed to send him back to New York, so . . ._ "You'd better hurry up to the Gard," Jace said pointedly, and then, realizing the seriousness to which he said it, tacked on in a more mocking tone, "God know what depravity we might get up to here without your guidance."

Alec's eyes flashed, his lips twitching. But when he spoke, his voice was controlled and even. "Try to hold it together," he smirked unamused. "I'll be back in half an hour." _Hopefully bringing news that they're going to send the vampire back._ But Jace said nothing as he watched Alec disappear down the corridor. _And thank you._

The moment they heard the sound of the front door shutting, Isabelle rounded on Jace. "You shouldn't bait him," she criticized, and Jace nearly laughed. _Sure I do. If I didn't you, all might catch on to what we're—whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you doing?_ Jace only barely kept his body from jumping as Aline's hand slid timidly across his thigh. He had to work hard to keep from flushing as he looked at her with barely contained surprise, but she only smiled back with mischievous eyes. _Really? Here? In front of everyone?_ Taking a covert glance around, Jace checked to see if anyone had noticed. Luckily, it didn't seem as if they had. In fact, Isabelle was still harping on him about Alec. "They _did_ leave him in charge, you know."

Placing his hand over Aline's, he gently lifted it and returned it to her own leg . . . where his hand hesitated over hers. He was supposed to be trying to move on, wasn't he? Trying some kind of relationship thing out with her? But Simon was there . . . and he just knew that asshole would tell Clary and— _and what? She want's you to move on you pathetic shit._ He left his hand resting on Aline's, lacing their fingers together as he took on a devilish grin of his own. "Do you ever think," he began, ignoring Izzy as he leaned in toward Aline and winked, "that in a past life Alec was an old woman with ninety cats who was always yelling at the neighborhood kids to get off her lawn? Because I do." Biting her lip seductively, Aline giggled. And still, Jace felt nothing. Shaking his head, but keeping the smile on his face, he turned back to Izzy. "Just because he's the only one who can go to the Gard—"

"What's the Gard?" Simon cut in, staring down at Jace's hand resting over Aline's with a judgmental glare. It took Jace everything he had to keep his composure, and to not pull his hand away. All the same, when he spoke, his voice came out icy.

"Sit down," he snapped, more unfriendly than he really had any right to be as he jerked his head at a nearby chair. But then, what right did the vampire have to stare at him like he was doing something wrong by touching Aline? It wasn't like he was dating anyone. ut more so, he hated how defensive and guilty that one look had made him feel. "Or did you plan to hover in the corner like a bat?" _Puns._

Across from him, Sebastian gave Jace a chastising look— _yeah fuck you too, buddy_ —before smiling kindly at Simon. "The Gard is the official meeting place of the Clave," he explained as the vampire sat rigidly in one of the chairs Jace had suggested. "It's where the Law is made, and where the Consul and Inquisitor reside. Only adult Shadowhunters are allowed only it's grounds when the Clave is in session."

"In session?" Simon asked, his eyes meeting Jace's briefly. Jace pretended not to notice. "You mean—not because of me?"

At this Sebastian laughed, though Jace wasn't sure what was supposed to be so funny about the question. It was a legitimate question and, given what he had told Simon upstairs about Maryse going to explain why there was a vampire in Alicante, Simon had every reason to assume that it was about him. Jace shook the thought away. _Why do I care if Sebastian is laughing at the leech? And Since when am I protective of the blood sucker, anyway?_ Jace bit on the inside of his cheek as Sebastian crossed his legs. "No," Sebastian said, the smiling still lingering as he looked at Simon. "Because of Valentine—" Jace's stomach did a flip that had nothing to do with Aline's thumb now grazing his hand, "—and the Mortal Instruments. That's why everyone's here. To discuss what Valentine's going to do next."

"Well, he'll go after the Mirror." Simon said logically, leaning back as he looked at Sebastian. The vampire seemed to like the boy as well—which irritated Jace. Was he really the only one who didn't? "The Third of the Mortal Instruments, right?" The daylighter pressed when no one spoke, though Jace did feel Aline tense next to him—probably surprised that the vampire knew as much as he did about Shadowhunter history. "Is it here in Idris? Is that why everyone's here?"

No one spoke at first, and Jace ignored the light squeeze of Aline's hand as he caught Izzy's eye. The truth about the Mirror was not a well known thing among the Downworlders. And that's because Shadowhunters didn't like admitting the truth of it . . . which was— "The thing about the Mirror," Isabelle sighed, and Aline sucked in her breath. "Is that no one knows where it is. In fact, no one knows _what_ it is."

"It's a mirror. You know—reflective, glass." Simon looked from Isabelle to Sebastian before shrugging. "I'm just assuming."

 _Yes. But that's what makes it difficult. Do you know how many things are reflective and made of glass?_ But it was Sebastian who responded in his over the top nice way. "What Isabelle means—" _Oh, stop with the nice bullshit already!_ "—is that no body knows anything about the Mirror. There are multiple mentions of it in Shadowhunter histories, but no specifics about where it is, what it looks like, or, most important, what it does."

"We assume Valentine want's it," Isabelle chimed in, pulling her hair over her shoulder, "but that doesn't help much, since no one's got a clue where it is. The Silent Brothers might have had an idea, but Valentine killed them all. There won't be more for at least a little while."

Isabelle's words hung in the air thickly, and the vampire seemed to choke on them as he looked at each of them in shock. _"All of them?_ I thought he only killed the one's in New York."

 _That's because you know nothing about our world, vampire—_ "The Bone City isn't really in New York," Isabelle said sadly. Jace knew that despite the creepiness of the Silent Brother's, their deaths had hit all Shadowhunters hard on some level. His sister was no exception. And then she sighed, and Jace had a feeling she was trying to decided the best to explain what she meant. "It's like—remember the entrance to the Seelie Court, in Central Park? Just because the entrance was there doesn't meant the Court itself is under the park."

 _Are you serious, Iz?_ Jace's stomach twisted as the vampire's eyes flashed to his, but he was careful not to let his discomfort show. That hadn't been exactly the best of nights for the blood sucker—something Izzy knew—so he was surprised that it was the example she chose to use. But then . . . it hadn't exactly been the best of nights for Jace either. And his heart began to pound as he remembered a short petite redhead pressed against his body, felt his temperature rise as he remembered the taste of her lips— _stop stop stop._ He tightened his grip on Aline's hand, slipping his fingers toward her inner thigh. She looked up at him and he winked, hoping it was as casual as he really needed it to be right now. Unaware of anything, it seemed, Izzy continued on.

"It's the same with the Bone City," she said with a shrug. "There are various entrances, but the City itself—"

Aline cut her off with a horrified shushing noise, her eyes wide as she glared at Izzy. Jace knew why, as did everyone else in the room. Well, everyone but the vampire. The actual location of the Silent City, was also another one of those Shadowhunter secrets that Downworlders were not supposed to be privy to. But Isabelle, who hated when someone tried shutting her up, merely looked at the dark haired girl next to Jace, and then down to where their entwined fingers rested on Aline's leg. If she had planned to say something, she decided against it. And so they sat in awkward and uncomfortable silence instead, as Simon's gaze found each of them. Personally, Jace didn't care if the downworlder knew. Maybe at one time he would have, but now . . . not so much.

"So," Aline said after awhile, her tone conversational as she looked at Simon. "What's it like, being a vampire?"

Several things happened then. Jace had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Sebastian started a coughing fit from trying so hard to choke back his own laughter. And Simon's eyebrows about shot off his head as he stared at Aline like she was truly something strange. Izzy, on the other hand, rounded on Aline looking utterly disgusted. "Aline!" she admonished. "You can't just go around asking people what it's like to be a vampire."

But Aline just shrugged innocently at her. "I don't see why—he hasn't been a vampire that long, has he? So he must remember what it was like being a person." And then she met Simon's gaze again. "Does blood still taste like blood to you?" _Oh for the love of—actually, that's not a bad question._ And the corner of Jace's lips ticked upward as Aline continued with her line of questioning. "Or does it taste like something else now, like orange juice or something? Because I would think the taste of blood would—"

"It tastes like chicken," Simon cut her off with a hint of agitation and sarcasm. But Aline must have missed the subtle tone, cause she looked back at Jace with wide eyes before turning back to the vampire.

"Really?" She asked, and Jace squeezed her hand lightly. _By the Angel, Clary would be having a shit fit right now._ Jace's stomach twisted at the thought, but it didn't stop it from being true. She was always so protective of the vampire. But Simon didn't respond, he only looked from her to Jace and then back to her. It was obvious that he was used to being around people who got his stupid wit—not a Shadowhunter who thought he was being literal.

"He's making fun of you, Aline," Sebastian finally said pointedly when no one else spoke. "As well he should. I apologize for my cousin again, Simon. Those of us who were brought up outside Idris tend to have a little more familiarity with Downworlders."

"But weren't you brought up in Idris?" Isabelle asked, turning to the dark haired boy. In that same moment, Jace heard Aline's breath catch in her throat and watched as Sebastian's expression darkened—this was not a line of questioning that either of them wanted to discuss. It wasn't hard putting two and two together. "I thought your parents—"

"Isabelle," Jace tried cutting her off as Sebastian brushed his dark hair back.

"My parent's are dead." Though the boy had said it calmly, Jace could hear the quiet anger behind his words. "A demon nest near Calais—" Horrified, Izzy made to each for him, but Sebastian waved her away gently. "It's all right, it was a long time ago. My aunt—my father's sister—brought me up at the Institute in Paris." Jace, who had taken Aline's hand in both of his now, touching the tips of each finger gently with his own, hesitated only a second. That whole thing had sounded rehearsed. But before he could think more on it, Izzy sighed dreamily.

"So you speak French?" She asked, changing the subject as she leaned toward Sebastian with a far away look. She always did have a thing for accents—not that Sebastian seemed to have one. Was that what was bugging Jace? "I wish I spoke another language," she continued with longing. "But Hodge never thought we needed to learn anything but ancient Greek and Latin, and nobody speaks those."

Sebastian shrugged, seemingly grateful for the topic change. "I also speak Russian and Italian. And some Romanian." At this, Jace bit down on his cheek as the boy smiled modestly at his sister. "I could teach you some phrases—"

"Romanian?" _I can count the amount of people I know that can speak that particular language on one hand._ "That's impressive." Jace complimented, and it even sounded sincere. And then he cocked his head curiously. "Not many people speak it."

"Do you?" The smile was gone replaced by something else. There had been a flash in Sebastian's eyes when he asked, Jace was sure of it. Interest—a little too much interest for his liking.

 _Fluently._ And then Jace smiled. It was such a sharp and honest smile—one that reached his eyes and transformed his whole face with cherub like grace. It was a smile that was known for taking away a breath or two—back when he cared to take someone's breath away. "Not really," he lied. "My Romanian is pretty much limited to useful phrases like, 'Are these snakes poisonous?' and 'But you look much to young to be a police officer.'"

Sebastian's smile didn't return as he stared at Jace with tempered calmness—and Jace had the feeling that for the first time, he might be witnessing a break in the boy's facade. Whatever Sebastian was hiding, it was buried deep. But it was there . . . Jace was sure of that. And it was far from the good guy routine he wanted them all to believe. Shrugging casually and keeping a light smile on his face, Jace returned to playing with Aline's hand and fingers as if it were the most natural thing for him to be doing in that moment.

"I do like traveling," Sebastian said then, and Jace could feel his eyes on him. Looking up, he found he was right. The boys dark eyes were studying him—like he knew something about Jace that he didn't—though a polite overly innocent smile was on his face. "But it's good to be back, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" Jace asked, guarded. He couldn't remember having talked about traveling—just about foreign languages.

But Sebastian's smile grew wider. "Just that there's nowhere else quite like Idris, however much we Nephilim might make homes for ourselves elsewhere." And then the boy cocked his head curiously at Jace. "Don't you agree?"

 _What are you playing at?_ He knew that somehow, the question was meant to bait him—and Jace wasn't about to give him that satisfaction. Instead, he bit the inside of his cheek as his eyes narrowed. "Why are you asking me?"

"Well." Sebastian shrugged casually. "You lived here as a child, didn't you?" _'Oh I already know who you are . . . and your sister.'_ The words rang through Jace's head as Sebastian continued. "Or did I get that wrong?"

 _No, not wrong. But why would you concern yourself with learning that? What use does it have for you to know where I might have grown up?_ But Jace didn't respond. He only turned a critical eye to the dark haired boy, as he lowered Aline's hand to his lap, absently lacing his fingers with hers again. Next to Sebastian, Izzy was staring back and forth between the two of them with growing impatience.

"You didn't get it wrong," she finally snapped, when no one spoke. "Jace likes to pretend that everyone isn't talking about him, even when he knows they are."

"They certainly are," Sebastian agreed with an equanimous smile at Isabelle that Jace was sure he had to be forcing. But how? As far as Jace knew, only him and his father were capable of controlling their emotions with such precision—not that he was doing such a great job of it now. Jace could feel his heart pounding angrily and the death glare on his face as Sebastian continued. "These days in Idris it's all anyone talks about," he said logically, meeting Jace's angry eyes calmly. _So it would seem._ "You, the Mortal Instruments, your father, your sister—"

Jace's stomach dropped just as Aline sat forward, trying to catch his eye. "Clarissa—" his heart hammered at hearing her name, "—was supposed to come with you, wasn't she?" Aline asked innocently enough, pulling his hand back onto her leg. "I was looking forward to meeting her. What happened?"

Biting the inside of his cheek, Jace looked blankly at Aline. Hadn't he already told her? No, he realized. She had not been in the sitting room yesterday when he had explained Clary's absence to everyone. Slowly, and not without kindness, Jace unlaced his fingers from hers and brought his hand back against himself as it curled into a tight fist. "She didn't want to leave New York." His tone was more curt than he meant it to be, and he met the vampire's eyes. _If you say one word . . ._ "Her mother's ill in the hospital."

"It's weird," Izzy said, giving Jace a pointed look that he ignored. "I really thought she _wanted_ to come." _And you also thought it was best that she didn't, so shut up—_

"She did," the vampire said suddenly, his eyes alight as he looked challengingly at Jace. A look, he couldn't ignore, and Jace felt his other hand curling into a fist as well. _Don't even think about it you stupid blood sucking—_ "In fact—"

 _Nope!_ Jace bounded to his feet with a dizzying blur of motion. In fact, everyone was blinking up at him as if surprised to find him standing. He didn't care. "Come to think of it—" His eyes were on the stupid vampire. _I warned you—not that you actually heard it._ "—I have something I need to discuss with Simon." And then he jerked his head toward one of the double doors that lead to a different flight of stairs than the ones they had previously used. But Simon only stared at up at him as if contemplating whether it would be wise to refuse. _If you don't get your ass up, I promise you, leech . . . I will help you do so._ "Come on, vampire. Let's talk."

* * *

 _ **Please Review!**_


	5. Suspicions

**~ Chapter Four ~  
Suspicions  
**

No one spoke at first as Jace and Simon stared at each other. And Jace was starting to lose his patience. But then the vampire stood up. _Good decision._ Turning under the curious eyes of the room, he lead Simon through the doors and up the stairs. Neither of them spoke as they went, and Jace was glad for that—he didn't think he would be able to explain why he had killed the vampire after rallying so hard to keep him alive. Stopping in front of the study, Jace shoved the door open.

"In here," he said, pushing Simon roughly through the doorway. "We should have some privacy—" He cut himself off when he saw Max, who had gotten to his feet, was staring at them both with wide bespectacled eyes. He was clutching one of his anime books to his chest—the one that Jace had borrowed and given up on in his attempt to understand Clary's reading preferences. Jace frowned, his surly demeanor vanishing upon seeing the youngest of the Lightwoods. He always did have a soft spot for the boy. But all the same, what he needed to speak with Simon about was not something that should be overheard. "Sorry Max," he said slowly before gesturing out the door. "We need the room. Grown-up talk."

Max looked put-out as he stared up at Jace. "But Izzy and Alec already kicked me out of the living room so they could have grown-up talk. Where am I supposed to go?"

Jace smiled sadly. He knew that he was disappointing Max, who's only crime was being too young. But still . . . "Your room?" he offered with a shrug. And then he pointed toward the door again. "Time to do your duty for your country, kiddo. Scram." And then he watched as Max sighed deeply, and then glaring at Jace and making a wide berth around Simon, left. Jace knew he would have to make it up to his little brother later, but right now he had more pressing things to deal with at the moment. Shutting the door and locking it, he took quick strides through the dimly lit room and pulled open the curtains, letting the Idris sunlight pour through the windows and chase away the shadows. He stared down at the cobblestone walkway only briefly before turning back to Simon, his temporarily stemmed anger now back in full force. "What the hell is your problem, vampire?"

Simon, having been distracted by Max and then the study and it's shelves of books, looked at Jace with surprise. It was quickly replaced with agitation. _"My_ problem?" he asked wildly. "You're the one who practically dragged me out of there by my hair."

 _You're lucky I didn't._ "Because you were about to tell them that Clary never cancelled her plans to come to Idris," Jace said through clenched teeth. "You know what would happen then?" _Nothing good._ "They'd contact her to come. And I already told you why that can't happen."

The vampire stared at him speculatively and then shook his head. "I don't get you," he said finally. "Sometimes you act like all you care about is Clary, and then you act like—"

Jace stared with growing impatience as Simon cut himself off with a sharp jerk of his head and stared out the window. "Act like what?" he finally snapped when the vampire continued to say nothing. Slowly, Simon met his eyes.

"You were flirting with Aline," he said, almost as if it pained him. And Jace felt his heart constrict, but refused to let it show as the vampire continued. "It didn't seem like all you cared about was Clary then."

Biting the inside of his cheek, Jace contemplated many ways to respond—and none of them were nice. So did this mean the vampire would tell Clary about Aline? Of course he would. The thought sent his blood pulsing—what would Clary think? _Maybe that it's a good thing you moved on. She is your sister after all._ All the same, he wondered briefly how well the stupid Daylighter would be able to talk if he were missing his tongue. In the end, however, all Jace said was, "That is so not your business." _What do you care, anyway? Shouldn't you be happy I'm trying to move on, even if it's a lie?_ "And Besides," he forced himself to add, "Clary is my sister." His stomach knotted. "You _do_ know that."

"I was there in the faerie court too," Simon said, and Jace was surprise to hear the softness in his voice. Soft or not, the words were like a dagger piercing his heart as he once more thought of Clary in his arms, her lips pressed to his. "I remember what the Seelie Queen said," the vampire continued. _"The kiss that will free the girl is the kiss that she most desires."_

And Jace stared as he thought of the words. At the time, he had been able to pretend that he didn't want it, though it was a lie, and that they had kissed simply because they had been forced to, which was the truth. But forced or not, he had wanted to kiss her. Desperately. A boon, the Seelie Queen had called it. And he remembered how he had wanted to throw himself at her feet, thanking her. It had worked, his kiss. Clary had desired his kiss, and it had freed her. _Well she doesn't desire it anymore,_ he thought irritably, his blank demeanor turning rapidly into anger as he stared at the vampire. "I bet you remember that," he said unkindly, cursing Isabelle for having brought up the stupid faerie court downstairs. "Burned into your brain, is it, vampire?"

And Simon made an unflattering disgruntled noise— _not that anything about you is flattering_ —looking both surprised at having made it and angry at Jace for having gotten him to make it. "Oh no you don't," he said, shaking his head. "I'm not having this argument. I'm not fighting over Clary with you. It's ridiculous."

"Then why did you bring all this up?" snapped Jace. _I love Simon like I_ should _love you_ —Clary's words rang through his head. _But shouldn't we be on the same side, then?_ he wondered, looking at the stupid vampire. They both loved her, and she loved neither of them—at least not in the way either of them wished she did.

"Because," sighed Simon. "If I'm going to lie—not to Clary, but to all your Shadowhunter friends—if you want me to pretend that it was Clary's decision not to come here, and if you want me to pretend that I don't know about her powers, or what she can really do, then you have to do something for me."

"Fine," Jace said without hesitation, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. _Because that's the difference between you and me, vampire. I really would do anything for her, without question or expectation._ "What is it you want?" But Simon didn't answer right away. He only stared at Jace and then past him, out the window. And though the vampire's face was expressionless, Jace could see the conflict in his eyes. Was he really that worried about whatever his request was? It couldn't be that bad, could it?

"I want you to do whatever you need to do to convince Clary that you don't have feelings for her," Simon said in a rush, and Jace could feel his body go rigid. Taking a breath, he made to respond but the vampire was already cutting him off. "And don't—don't say that you're her brother; I already know that." Jace closed his mouth, his pulse racing. "Stop stringing her along—" _I'm not,_ he thought with heart wrenching defeat. "—when you know that whatever you two have has no future." _Don't you think I know that?_ "And I'm not saying this because I want her for myself. I'm saying it because I'm her friend and I don't want her getting hurt."

Biting the inside of his cheek, Jace stared down to hide the heartbreak he felt and knew could be read clearly on his face. At some point during the vampire's speech, he had uncrossed his arms and clasped his hands together in front of him; hands that longed to touch and hold a girl he knew he had no right wanting. But he did. By the Angel, he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything in his entire life. But the request was an easy thing to grant. He had already sparred Clary from having to tell him that she wasn't in love with him anymore by pretending to no longer wanting a relationship with her. _Don't worry blood sucker, she is not the one getting hurt by this._ Taking a breath Jace spoke without taking his eyes off his hands. "I've already done that," he breathed, trying to hide the pain in his voice and knowing he had failed miserably. "I told her I was only interested in being her brother." _And it very nearly killed me to do it._

"Oh." It was all Simon said at first, as if he were surprised to hear it. And Jace, irritated at having to admit even a portion of his feelings to the vampire, raised an irritable eye toward the stupid leach. He was surprised and slightly gratified to see that the vampire looked slightly embarrassed. "Well," Simon said slowly, looking uncomfortable under Jace's gaze. "Takes care of that, I guess." And then he cocked his head to the side, a frown tugging at his lips. Jace wanted to slap it off him. "There's one last thing."

 _Of course there is._ But Jace didn't say that. No, the vampire had seen enough emotion from him in one lifetime. Instead, he made sure to keep his tone bored when he responded. "Oh? And what is that?"

"What was it Valentine said when Clary drew that rune on the ship?" Simon asked. "It sounded like a foreign language. _Meme_ something—?"

The corner of Jace's lips ticked upward as he thought of the rune. It had been quite fitting, after all. _"Mene mene tekel upharsin_ —you don't recognize it? It's from the Bible, vampire. The old one. That's your book, isn't it?"

Simon's eyes narrowed. "Just because I'm Jewish doesn't mean I've memorized the Old Testament."

Jace rolled his eyes, but all the same found himself explaining. Besides, he shouldn't be the only one proud of Clary. "It's the Writing on the Wall. 'God hath numbered thy kingdom, and brought it to an end; thou art weighed in the balance and found wanting.'" He stared at the vampire expectantly by Simon only stared back, possibly more confused than before. Jace shook his head—stupid vampires. "It's a portent of doom," he clarified with a sigh. "It means the end of an empire."

"But what does that have to do with Valentine?"

"Not just Valentine," said Jace. "All of us. The Clave and the Law—what Clary can do—" his heart hammered painfully with dread, "—overturns everything we know to be true. No human being can create new runes, or draw the sort of runes Clary can. Only angels have that power. And since Clary can do that—well, it seems like a portent. Things are changing. The Laws are changing. The old ways may never be the right way again. Just as the rebellion of the angels ended the world as it was—it split heaven in half and created hell—this could mean the end of the Nephilim as they currently exist." And then Jace sighed. His head was beginning to hurt from talking so much. "This is our war in heaven, vampire, and only one side can win it. And my father means for it to be his."

"And could he?" Simon asked. "Win it, I mean."

Jace thought of his father then—of the Cup and the Sword he possessed. Of his demon army. "Yes."

"Well," the vampire began before shaking his head. "Shit."

"My sentiments exactly," Jace agreed. "And the Clave knows it. They won't admit it, of course, but they know it. We all do. It's why we're here."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

At this, Jace almost smiled. _"You,"_ he said pointedly, "can go back to New York. You can keep Clary away from here. She's probably wondering where you are, anyway."

"If she is, she hasn't shown it." The vampire frowned and pulled out his cell phone. "I don't have any missed calls or messages from her."

"Well you wouldn't," Jace said with a shrug. "Cell phones don't work here. Most electronics don't. The wards interfere with the reception."

"That's . . . really inconvenient, actually." Simon said, shoving his phone back in his pocket. Jace laughed.

"It can be," he concurred. "But a shit ton of demon's entering the city would be even more inconvenient, wouldn't you say?"

"Well, I got in," the vampire shrugged. "Doesn't seem they're doing their job all that well—"

"First," Jace said pointedly. "It's not like you came crashing through the sky rodeo riding a vermithrall demon. I brought you through an open, Clave approved Portal. And second, you're a Downworlder. While it's true that you were infected with a demon disease, you're hardly a demon. You're too much—" he gestured at the vampire, "— _you._ Which is hardly terrifying. But still, with permission, Downworlders _are_ allowed inside Alicante. Even ones cursed with having a touch of the dead."

Simon's brows flew up. "Touch of the dead?"

And Jace shrugged. "Would you prefer undead?"

"It's just . . . you make it sound like I have some sort of curable disease."

"No. Demon Pox is curable— _not_ that many seek a cure, what with it requiring the admittance of having gotten freaky in the sheets with a demon. And who wants to admit to that?" Jace shuddered. "What you have . . . well, short from having been altered to be able to withstand sunlight—something you have yet to thank me for, by the way—is incurable."

"I'm aware."

"Well. Good. Cause I was worried I had given you false hope there. And what kind of friend would I be then?"

Simon sputtered. _"Friend?"_

Jace set his face into a frown. "You wound me, vampire."

"I'd like to."

At that, Jace grinned. It was probably one of the more honest things the vampire had ever said. But in the end he only moved toward the door, ready to be done with this awkward bromance. "Let's get back before Isabelle sends up a search party."

Downstairs, the music was still playing and Aline had taken it upon herself to set out snacks for everyone—well, everyone with a pulse. Apples, cakes, bread, and cheese littered the coffee table, and Isabelle was already working on the bottle of wine while deep in flirty conversation with Sebastian. In the corner, Max was seated with a large slice of cake studiously ignoring everyone as he read his book, and Jace felt a twinge of guilt. Perhaps tomorrow he would try to do something with him. But for now, he had to pretend he wasn't a bundle of nerves ready to snap as he waited for Alec. Taking a seat next to Aline, he put on a false relaxed smile as she leaned forward, holding his wrist to balance herself—not that she needed to—as she reached for an apple. Nearby, he heard Simon's intake of breath and looked up.

 _This is what you want, remember?_ Jace thought as he smiled at the vampire. He even made it seem sincere. Like it was what he wanted too. Like he wouldn't prefer a red-haired, petite, spitfire sitting next to him, touching him, wanting him— _stop._

"We're out of wine," Isabelle announced as she placed the empty bottle on the table. Jace raised a brow, grateful for the disruption of his thoughts. "I'm going to go get some more." And then she winked at Sebastian and practically skipped from the room in a whirlwind of black and silver. Jace watched her go with a shake of his head. He would have to keep an eye on his sister if she drank much more—which was the last thing he needed. Playing babysitter to drunk Isabelle was not on his top ten things he wanted to do at the moment. But he also didn't trust the Penhallow cousin.

"If you don't mind my saying so, you seem a little quiet." It was Sebastian, and Jace looked up to see that he had taken a seat next to Simon. Leaning back, Jace took Aline's hand in his and winked as she smiled. She leaned back too, pressing into him and Jace threw his arm over the back of the couch. "Everything all right?" Sebastian asked the vampire, and Simon shrugged as Aline laid her head against the crook of Jace's shoulder. He kept his body relaxed, though he felt uncomfortable. She didn't fit quite right. She wasn't . . . Jace sighed internally, knowing exactly who she wasn't. _She's not Clary._

"There aren't a lot of openings for me in the conversation," the Daylighter said, casting a glance at Aline and Jace snuggled on the couch together. He looked away quickly. "It seems to be either about Shadowhunter politics or people I've never heard of, or both."

Sebastian made a show of frowning. "We can be something of a closed circle, we Nephilim," he said regrettably. "It's the way of those who are shut out from the rest of the world."

Aline looked up at Jace, a shy grin on her face as she tried getting his attention. Tilting his head down, he placed his cheek against her head to shush her as he continued listening to the cockamamy bullshit Sebastian was spewing. But it wasn't bullshit, was it? Not really. Shadowhunters really were a closed off uptight group of people, weren't they? But he said nothing, playing with Aline's fingers, as Simon glared at the Penhallow boy—which was brave given that Sebastian was bigger, stronger, and better trained in killing than the vampire. "Don't you think you shut yourselves out? You despise ordinary humans—"

"'Despise' is a little strong," Sebastian cut him off, not without kindness. "And do you really think the world of humans would want anything to do with us? All we are is a living reminder that whenever they comfort themselves that there are no real vampires, no real demons or monsters under the bed—they're lying." And then Sebastian looked at Jace, who had bitten down on his cheek. He had heard something similar to that speech before . . . not that Sebastian could possibly know that. "Don't you agree?"

 _Să vedem cât de bine vorbești cu adevărat românesc, dobitocule._ And then Jace smiled. _"De ce crezi că vă ascultam conversatia?"_

But if he had caught Sebastian off guard, the boy didn't look it. Instead he seemed, if anything, intrigued, as he stared at Jace. _"M-ai urmărit de când ai ajuns aici,"_ he pointed out, and Jace felt his smile falter. _"Nu-mi dau seama dacă nu mă placi ori dacă ești atât de bănuitor cu toată lumea."_ Getting to his feet, Sebastian smiled benignly. "I appreciate the Romanian practice, but if you don't mind, I'm going to see what's taking Isabelle so long in the kitchen."

Jace watched him leave, both surprised and feeling slightly off. He knew he hadn't been friendly with Sebastian, even having flipped him off once. But it was disconcerting to know that the boy was aware of just how closely he had been watching him. _Apparently not without reason,_ Jace decided.

"What's wrong?" Simon intruded on his thoughts. "Does he not speak Romanian after all?"

"No," Jace said absently, still staring after Sebastian. Shaking his head, he looked at the vampire. "No, he speaks it all right." And then he turned expectantly toward the entryway as he heard the door open. _About time,_ he thought as Alec entered the room. "Back so soon?"

"Not for long," Alec said, his gaze drifting from the vampire to his _parabatai_ —a gaze that held many unspoken words—before it rested on the food laden table. Reaching down, he snatched up an apple. "I just came back to get—" he pointed his fruit at Simon, "—him. He's wanted at the Gard."

Aline, who was still snuggled against Jace's side—though Jace was embarrassed to say that he had completely forgotten she was there—sat up straight, her hand tightening around his. "Really?" But Jace couldn't think about how he had practically forgotten about Aline. Maybe he would apologize later . . . maybe she didn't even notice. Either way, he gently untied his fingers from hers as he got up, his eyes on his brother.

"Wanted for what?" He asked, feeling like someone teetering on the edge of a cliff. Being wanted wasn't always a good thing, after all. And Jace wasn't about to let Simon go without knowing what the Clave intended to do first. "I hope you found that out before you promised to deliver him, at least."

"Of course I asked," Alec replied indignantly. "I'm not stupid."

"Oh, come on." It was Izzy. Jace and Alec both turned toward her at the same time—Jace's eyes narrowing only a fraction at Sebastian standing next to her with another bottle of wine. But Izzy was too busy smiling at her older brother to notice. "Sometimes you are a bit stupid, you know." And Alec glared at her, which only set her smile wider. "Just a _bit."_

Turning back to Jace, Alec met his eyes. "They're sending Simon back to New York. Through the Portal." And Jace felt a sense of relief and burden rise from his shoulders. All the same, he still felt tension at the same time. Izzy on the other hand, acted as if this might be the most tragic news she had heard in a long time.

"But he just got here!" she pouted, staring at Simon like he were something she had wanted to play with—the mouse to her cat. "That's no fun."

Alec rolled his eyes. "It's not supposed to be fun, Izzy. Simon coming here was an accident, so the Clave thinks the best thing is for him to go home."

Jace captured his brothers gaze. _I want to go._

Alec shook his head infinitesimally. _No._

Jace bit his cheek, glaring. _Why not._

But Alec's gaze was undeterred. _You know why._

"Great," Simon said getting to his feet and stretching as he unknowingly cut into their unspoken conversation. "Maybe I'll even make it back before my mother notices I'm gone." And then he checked his watch curiously. "What's the time difference between here and Manhattan—"

"You have a _mother?"_ Aline cut him off in shock, and Jace raised a brow. _By the Angel, all vampires have a mother, Aline. At least they did at some point. They were human once, after all._ And then he looked insistently at Alec again.

 _I want to go._

 _You know you can't. Don't push it. Be happy you got what you wanted._

"Seriously," Simon cut in again, looking between the two of them as if he knew about the silent conversation they were having. "It's fine. All I want is to get out of this place."

Jace couldn't blame him. He wanted the vampire out of here too. But— "You'll go with him?" he asked Alec. _Since I can't._ "And make sure everything's all right?"

 _You're worrying._

 _You know as well as I, that I have every right to._

"What?" Simon asked suddenly, casting a glance back and forth between the two of them suspiciously. "What's wrong?"

Slowly, Jace looked from Alec to Simon. They were going to Portal the vampire back home. He had gotten what he wanted. So why did he feel uneasy about it? "Nothing," he said. "Everything's fine. Congratulations, vampire—you get to go home."

 _ **#######**_

The night air was cool when they finally stepped out of the Penhallow house, and Alec took a deep breath, relishing it. The vampire stood next to him, but Alec paid him little attention. They wouldn't be in this mess had it not been for Simon. Instead, they could be dealing with the more pressing matters like Valentine and his demon army. Without so much as a look back at the Downworlder, Alec made his way toward the Gard. He had placed a speed rune on himself not long ago, and he was moving through the deserted streets of Alicante without much hindrance. The vampire, however, kept pace with relative ease. That was a good thing, he decided. He wanted this done and over with as quickly as possible.

His mother had not been happy when Alec arrived unannounced at the Gard, but there was not much she could do about it either. He was eighteen and the Law stated he could be there. In fact, the Consul had insisted on him staying—probably for the sole purpose of irritating his mother further. But it had worked. And Alec wondered just how much trouble he would be in later for his defiance. But then, he had made a promise to Jace that he would try to help him get the vampire sent back. And he tried to never go back on his promises.

"Must suck," Simon said conversationally as they crossed a small bridge over the canal. And for one wild second, Alec thought the vampire had heard his thoughts. He didn't respond, though he did slow down a tad as Simon continued. "Getting stuck escorting me."

Maybe the vampire _had_ heard his thoughts. All the same, Alec shrugged. "I'm eighteen," he said, as if that explained everything. Judging by the vampire's confused look, however, it didn't. Alec switched tracks. "I'm an adult. I have to be the responsible one. And I'm the only one who can go in and out of the Gard when the Clave is in session, and besides, the Consul knows me." He spoke with a sense of importance at that.

"What's a Consul?"

"He's like a very high officer if the Clave," Alec responded, deciding that was the best way to describe Malachi, that the vampire would understand. "He counts the votes of the Council, interprets the Law for the Clave, and advises them and the Inquisitor. If you head up an Institute and you run into a problem you don't know how to deal with, you call the Consul."

Simon looked confused. "He advises the Inquisitor?" he asked. "I thought—isn't the Inquisitor dead?"

Alec tried to bite back a laugh and failed, though it ended up coming out more of a snort. "That's like saying, 'Isn't the president dead?'" He shook his head. "Yeah, the Inquisitor died; now there's a new one. Inquisitor Aldertree."

The vampire was quiet then as they walked. The cool night air had a slight breeze to it, and Alec pulled his jacket a little tighter around him as they turned up the hill that would lead them to the Gard. The dark shadows chased each other under the blaze of the witchlight lamps, the blue glow of them on the ground reminding him of a certain dark haired warlock with cat-like eyes and a penchant for fashion and glitter. They hadn't talked much since the battle on the East River. But it wasn't like Alec had made any real effort to do so, either—

"I'll tell you," Simon said suddenly, cutting into Alec's thoughts. "Inquisitions haven't worked well for my people in the past." But when Alec turned a blank eye on him, the vampire shrugged. "Never mind. Just a mundane history joke. You wouldn't be interested."

"You're not a mundane." Alec said pointedly. "That's why Aline and Sebastian were so excited to get a look at you." _Kind of._ Jace had told him about how Aline had refused to go into the vampire's room. And as for the Penhallow cousin, well— "Not that you can tell with Sebastian; he always acts like he's seen everything already."

"Are he and Isabelle . . ." Simon stalled, looking surprised he had spoken in the first place, and then shaking his head as he continued. "Is there something going on there?"

Alec really did laugh this time as he looked back at the vampire. "Isabelle and _Sebastian?"_ From the first time Simon had shown up at the Institute with Clary, he had shown an interest in Izzy. And Clary. And now Maia . . . or so Alec had heard through the Downworlder grapevine. He was starting to think that the vampire was just interested in any girl that showed him an ounce of attention. All the same, he could see that the idea of Iz and Sebastian really seemed to bother the boy, and Alec decided to take pity on him. "Hardly," he said. "Sebastian's a nice guy—Isabelle only likes dating thoroughly inappropriate boys our parents will hate. Mundanes, Downworlders, petty crooks . . ."

"Thanks." The vampire threw him a lopsided smile. "I'm glad to be classed with the criminal element."

 _Eh, tomato potato . . . or however that mundane quote goes._ And then Alec shrugged. "I think she does it for attention," he said honestly. "She's the only girl in the family too, so she has to keep proving how tough she is." And then Alec frowned. "Or at least, that's what she thinks." Which was ridiculous, as Izzy was tougher than most Shadowhunters Alec knew; men and women alike.

"Or maybe she's trying to take the attention off you." Simon said as simply as if he were talking about the weather, and Alec raised a brow. "You know," the vampire continued, catching the Shadowhunter's look of confusion. "Since your parents don't know you're gay and all."

Alec stopped abruptly, heat spreading through his limbs as his stomach plummeted into the lowest possible cavity of his body. The vampire only just manage to stop behind him. "No," he said curtly, anger masking his surprise as he stood at his full height and turned to face the blood sucker. "But apparently everyone _else_ does."

"Except Jace," Simon pointed out, looking at ease in Alec's towering frame. "He doesn't know, does he?"

No, Jace didn't know. How it was possible that his _parabatai_ was seemingly the last person on earth that didn't know the truth about Alec's sexuality was . . . almost improbable. And yet, somehow . . . it was the one thing that Alec had managed to keep from him. But had he really? It wasn't like Jace hadnt questioned him about Magnus before. Shaking the thought away and taking a step toward Simon, Alec stared down at the vampire. What was he playing at? What was he trying to say? That he would tell Jace the truth? Taking a slow deep breath, he could feel the color draining from him. "I really don't see what business it is of yours," he said with a deadly calm voice. "Unless you're trying to threaten me."

The vampire took a step back, shock plain on his face and holding his hands up as if in surrender. "Trying to _threaten_ you? I'm not—"

"Then why?" Alec demanded, closing the space between them once more. He could hear the pleading and helplessness in his tone—something he couldn't do anything about. If the vampire wasn't trying to hold the truth about his sexuality—about his feelings for his _parabatai_ —over him, then _why?_ What was the point? "Why bring it up?"

"Because," Simon said, taking another step back, away from the stalking Shadowhunter. "You seem to hate me most of the time." This brought Alec up short, and the vampire took his moment of hesitation to quickly continue. "I don't take it personally, even if I did save your life. You seem to kind of hate the whole world. And besides, we have practically nothing in common. But I see you looking at Jace—" Simon took a pained breath, "—and I see myself looking at Clary, and I figure—maybe we have that one thing in common. And maybe it might make you dislike me a little less."

Alec stopped advancing on the vampire, looking at him with contemplation as his heavy breath came out in plumes. His heart was still hammering in his chest and at some point he had started chewing on his thumb nail, not that he had much of a thumb nail left to chew on. "So you're not going to tell Jace?" he asked. The vampire shook his head and Alec felt some of the tension leave his body. All the same, had Simon really thought that by commiserating on unattainable love, it would help bridge the gap between them? But it did, didn't it? It gave them equal ground to walk, anyway. Maybe the vampire could offer some insight after all. "I mean—" Alec shook his head. "You told Clary how you felt, and . . ."

"And it wasn't the best idea," Simon finished sadly when Alec trailed off. "Now I wonder all the time how you go back after something like that. Whether we can ever be friends again, or if what we had is broken into pieces. Not because of her, but because of me." Alec met the vampire's eyes, black in the night sky. Could he possibly know that that was his fear? That that was why he had not wanted Jace knowing the truth about him? They were _parabatai._ Their bond was not as easily broken as a silly mundane crush. But this . . . the truth . . . Alec didn't think he could bear losing Jace. He knew he couldn't. He swallowed hard as Simon continued softly. "Maybe if I found someone else . . ."

"Someone else," Alec echoed almost absently. He said nothing else as he turned and continued toward the Gard, a beautiful pair of cat eyes flashing in front of him with every step he took. But he didn't like thinking of Magnus as _'someone else'._ He was more than that—better than just being someone's someone else. He deserved so much more than that. And it wouldn't be fair to the warlock to be treated otherwise—which, admittedly, was all Alec had done; treating him like a consolation prize. _Magnus must hate me._ The thought both surprised and pained Alec.

"You know what I mean," Simon said falling into step with Alec. "For instance, I think Magnus Bane really likes you." And once again, Alec had the feeling that the vampire had been listening to his thoughts. "And he's pretty cool," he hedged when Alec said nothing. "He throws great parties, anyway. Even if I did get turned into a rat that time."

The faintest ghost of a smile touched Alec's lips at the mention of Magnus's party. It was the first time he had met the warlock. And it was the first time that Alec felt he had been seen by someone. Truly _seen._ People always saw Jace first, something Alec didn't mind—he had never minded. Nor did he fault his _parabatai_ for it. It was just how it was. And he preferred it that was, actually. But that night . . . Magnus had seen Alec first. _And I treated him like shit._ "Thanks for the advice." Alec's voice was parched. "But I don't think he likes me all that much." _Why would he after I messed it all up?_ "He barely spoke to me when he came to open the Portal at the Institute."

"Maybe you should call him," Simon suggested, and Alec glanced back at the vampire curiously. _You're a good person, vampire, with good intentions_ _—not that I can tell Jace that. He'd kill me._ Alec decided, surprising himself. _You're annoying, yes, but . . . I don't hate you._ How strange things had become for him—for all of them, he supposed. Here was a mundane who only recently had been turned into a vampire, only to become a Daylighter, and was now trying to give a Shadowhunter advice on getting over his _parabatai_ (who was in love with his sister), by dating a warlock that threw great parties.

Deciding not to even attempt to figure all that out, Alec only shook his head. "Can't. No phones in Idris." And then he looked up at the large gates that were looming in front of them, with their judgmental marble angels, and sighed. "Doesn't matter anyway. We're here." He gestured at the large building behind the stone gate as Simon turned to stare at it. "This is the Gard." And then Alec watched as Simon took in the large stone and wrought iron gate, his eyes lingering on the two angels that stood guard at the gate entrance. He wondered if the vampire found the angels just as judgmental as he did—which surprised him. He had never before thought of the angels, with their swords held high and the abenaki demons dead at their feet, as anything but protectors; a reminder of what Nephilim were. But now . . .

Shaking his head, Alec guided Simon up the walk and toward the large building. The witchlight here was brighter than they had been on the streets of Alicante, casting a harsh while light on the ground instead of the dull blue from before. And Alec felt the vampire tense under the blaze of burning light and felt a sting of sympathy for him. Simon hadn't asked to become a vampire anymore than Alec had asked to be born gay. In fact, most Downworlders didn't choose to become what they were—something Alec was beginning to think most Nephilim seemed to forget. Some conveniently so.

"So this is the vampire?"

Alec stopped and looked up at Malachi. The Consul was standing in front of the large doors that lead into the Gard, his body rigid as he stared down at Simon with disgust. And Alec had the strange desire to stand protectively in front of the vampire—to shield him from the murderous glare from the Consul. If Jace were here, he would have some kind of witty retort, but Alec had nothing. He only nodded. "This is Simon," he said hesitantly. They were going to send him back to New York. It was what they all wanted. So why did Alec feel uncertain now? "Simon," he continued, his voice stronger than before. He was being ridiculous after all—damn Jace for having planted some type of seed of suspicion. They needed to trust the Clave to do the right thing. The Clave _was_ doing the right thing. "This is Consul Malachi Dieudonné. Is the Portal ready, sir?"

The Consul turned his gaze from the vampire to Alec, his eyes were filled with anger—not that they had any reason to be. But then, like it or not, Simon was a Downworlder. And most Shadowhunters did not take kindly to Downworlders showing up unannounced inside Alicante. "Yes," the Consul said gratingly, as if he thought it was none of Alec's concern. "Everything is in readiness." And then he turned, beckoning Simon as he went with a large stubby finger. "Come, Downworlder. The sooner this is all over, the better."

As the vampire made to move forward, Alec's hand shot out of its own accord, grabbing Simon's shoulder and stopping him. He still felt uneasy. _Damn you, Jace._ "Just a moment." And he held himself steady as the Consul turned dangerously disbelieving eyes back on him and his grip on the vampire. "He'll be sent directly back to Manhattan?" Alec asked, knowing he should be more nervous under such a steely glare. "And there will be someone waiting there on the other side for him?"

The Consul's gaze traveled slowly from Alec to the vampire. "Indeed," he said thoughtfully. "The warlock Magnus Bane." And Alec flinched at the name, immediately hoping it wasn't noticeable. "Since he unwisely allowed the vampire into Idris in the first place, he's taken responsibility for his return."

Alec's free hand spasmed into a tight fist at the Consuls words. "If Magnus hadn't let Simon through the Portal, he would have died," he retorted, surprising himself with the pointed rudeness of his tone toward such a high ranking official. More surprising was that he found he didn't care. He was not about to let anyone accuse or insult Magnus in front of him.

"Perhaps," the Consul replied, not seeming the least put-out by Alec's tone. "That's what your parents say, and the Clave has chosen to believe them. Against my advice, in fact." And Alec's body tensed at the Consul's admittance. "Still," he continued, glaring hatefully at Simon, "one does not lightly bring Downworlders into the City of Glass."

"There was nothing light about it," Simon snapped. "We were under attack—"

And the Consul rounded on Simon, his eyes flashing. "You will speak when you are spoken to, Downworlder, not before."

The vampire tensed at the Consul's harsh order, and Alec felt he knew Simon well enough to know that he did not take kindly to being told to shut up. Like Jace, the vampire probably had about a million retorts running through his head and was simply searching for the perfect one. Alec squeezed his shoulder tightly, hoping he would understand the warning to not make it worse. And that, unlike his _parabatai,_ the vampire would be smart enough to listen. It was bad enough that the Consul admitted to not wanting to send Simon home—which really only left one alternative—without Simon making it worse for himself. Was Jace really right about the Clave? Had his suspicions really been founded? Alec had wanted so badly to believe that he was wrong. That—

"Now, Consul, _really!"_ The words were shouted indignantly with a trace of breathlessness, and they all turned to see Inquisitor Aldertree approaching them. He was glaring reproachfully at Malachi and Alec felt some of his tension dissipate. "There's no need to alarm our guest."

"Guest?" Malachi repeated, looking, if possible, angrier than before.

But the Inquisitor either didn't notice his death glare, or was ignoring it as he came to a stop in front of Alec and Simon. He smiled wide at the two boys staring at him, though he only seemed to have eyes for Simon. "We're so glad—pleased, really—that you decided to cooperate with our request that you return to New York." _Request?_ That was putting it mildly since Malachi had just admitted to not wanting to send him back. "It does make things so much easier," Aldertree beamed. Simon, however, only looked from Aldertree, to Malachi, and then back to Alec in confusion. But all Alec could feel was relief at knowing the Inquisitor was here now, especially given the turn of events with the Consul. He did not want Malachi anywhere near Simon. And then the Inquisitor's eyes went wide as he registered the vampire's confusion. "Oh, I almost forgot!" he said, slapping himself on the forehead and causing Alec to raise a brow in surprise. He was unaware people still did that kind of thing. "I should have introduced myself. I'm the Inquisitor—the new Inquisitor. Inquisitor Aldertree is my name."

Alec hid a smirk. If Magnus were here, he would have had some kind of humorous response for the amount of times Aldertree had used the word, 'Inquisitor.' But he wasn't here, and instead he watched as the Inquisitor—the new Inquisitor—Inquisitor Aldertree's his name—held out his hand for Simon. The vampire took it, though he seemed shell-shocked about the whole thing.

"And you?" the Inquisitor continued, giving Simon a limp shake with what Alec had already experienced as an unpleasantly sweaty hand. "You're name is Simon?"

"Yes," the vampire nodded. When he pulled his hand back, he tried to casually and covertly wipe his palm on his jeans. "There's no need to thank me for cooperating," Simon continued. "All I want is to go home."

"I'm sure you do, I'm sure you do!" The Inquisitor replied cheerfully—too cheerfully—as a shadow flashed across his face. Spending as much time with Jace, master of facial expressions, as he had, Alec was starting to become skilled at being able to tell if an expression was genuine or not. Though he was hardly a master at it. But he was sure he had seen—that the Inquisitor had had . . . Alec swallowed hard as Aldertree gestured up the walkway. "This way Simon, if you please." And Simon and Alec both moved forward. Catching this, the Inquisitor held a moist hand up to Alec and smiled kindly. "That's all we'll be needing from you, Alexander. Thank you for all your help."

He had spoken with forced politeness. But was it forced? Alec wasn't sure anymore. Shaking his head, he looked at the vampire, who was watching him with a frown. Did he feel like something was off, as well? Could he really just let Simon go? No, he had promised Jace he would see the vampire through the Portal. "But Simon—"

"Will be just fine," the Inquisitor promised. But when Alec continued to stand there, he turned to the Consul. "Malachi, please show Alexander out. And give him a witchlight rune-stone to get him back home if he hasn't brought one. The path can be tricky at night."

And with that, he led Simon away as Alec stood there wondering what the hell just happened.

 **#######**

Jace left the house amidst the protests of Aline and Isabelle. But he needed time alone, away from where he had to act like he wasn't worried and uptight and heart broken and thinking everything had gone wrong at the Gard. He just didn't think he could do it for much longer—lying to everyone was exhausting. He needed to be where he could openly be a wreck as he waited for Alec. If his _parabatai_ took much longer, Jace would go after them to see what had happened. Sighing, he breathed in the roses that permeated the air. It was nice; a break away from the lies that he would never grow accustomed to—regardless of how adept he was at them. Nor would he ever get used to pretending to be something he wasn't.

Sitting on the low stone wall outside the Penhallow Manor, he thought of Clary. It was the first time he had really allowed himself to think unimpeded of her. And think of her he did. He thought of her long curly red hair, like a fiery waterfall cascading over her shoulders; the way her arms felt around him, holding together all his broken pieces and making them whole; her lips against his, soft and reassuring and perfect. And he thought of her green eyes. Eyes that reminded him of a time that was simpler—his home when his father was on one of his trips. He could still remember the first time his father had left. He was five. And Jace still remembered the overwhelming feeling of tension leaving his body at his father's departure. Sure, he had hated his father leaving, and was always glad to see him return . . . but when he was gone, Jace didn't have to worry about being afraid of disappointing anyone. Or getting in trouble and being punished severely. With his father gone and not expected back for several days, he could do anything he wanted. It was during that time that Jace stayed up to watch the sunrise for the first time while sitting atop his roof. He had been amazed and enthralled by the rolling hills of green—like emeralds dancing underneath a velvet breeze while being sun kissed in a golden morning dew.

The blend of golden emeralds had enraptured him.

It enraptured him now.

Shaking his head, Jace froze as he saw a shadow pass quickly in the distance. It was a streak of familiar red and it was gone as quickly as it came—but all the same, Jace sat at attention, staring off in the direction he was sure it had disappeared.

 _It's not her,_ he told himself, but unable to look away. _It's not her! You're seeing things!_ Slowly, ever so slowly and with a heart that was pounding, Jace let go of his breath. He was being ridiculous. Clary was back in New York, safe and sound. Whatever he had just seen was nothing more than a cruel trick of his desperate mind, and he shoved his palms into his eyes until he saw bursts of white. _She's back in New York._ Somehow, he had managed it—he had kept her from coming. But at what cost, he wondered? And the thought hit him just as hard as knowing that he had succeeded in keeping her away. She was undoubtedly upset with him. But once she found out about Simon? What then? Because he just knew the vampire would tell her once he returned home.

Taking a breath, Jace sighed. It was just something that he would have to deal with when he was back in New York. However terrible her anger, it was worth it to know he had protected her. But he also knew that if something happened to Simon . . . there would be no coming back from that with Clary. _She would never forgive me._ And Jace wasn't sure he could live in a world where Clary truly hated him.

Looking up the walk, he froze again upon seeing another dark figure emerge from the shadows. As it moved closer Jace watched as the dark eyes turned into a midnight blue and the dark crop of hair grew darker. It was Alec, who stopped in front of him at the same time that a particularly cold breeze hit Jace causing him to shiver. _Well this jacket is obviously useless,_ he thought blandly, staring down at the lightweight coat that was doing nothing to keep him warm. Alec watched him for a moment before coming to sit down next to him, and Jace could feel the heat rolling off him. It took everything he had not to curl up into his _parabatai's_ side, as he was pretty sure Alec would not take too kindly to it. Besides, _thy warmth shall be my warmth when I get cold,_ was not part of the oath they had taken.

"Have you been out here waiting for me all this time?" Alec asked softly.

 _Not the_ whole _time._ Jace looked up indignantly. "Who says I'm waiting for you?"

"It went fine, if that's what you're worried about." Alec said with a slight edge to his tone. Jace knew that tone. It was the _'I think you're being ridiculous,'_ tone. "I left Simon with the Inquisitor."

Jace blinked in a horror that he had to work hard to keep from showing on his face as Alec's words sunk in. "You _left_ him? You didn't stay to make sure everything went all right?" _What if something happens? What if they don't send him back? What if he gets lost in the Portal? What if Clary hates me forever because you didn't stay—_

"It was fine," Alec repeated sternly, cutting into his thoughts. "The Inquisitor said he'd take him inside personally and send him back to—"

"The Inquisitor said, the Inquisitor said," Jace mocked irritably. And then he shook his head before staring in the direction of the Gard. "The last Inquisitor we met completely exceeded her command—" _not to mention she was a sadistic hag,_ "—if she hadn't died, the Clave would have relieved her of her position, maybe even cursed her. What's to say this Inquisitor isn't a nut job too?"

"He seemed all right," Alec said with a tight shrug. "Nice, even. He was perfectly polite to Simon." _Now I know something's up. No one is ever 'perfectly polite' to Simon._ "Look, Jace," his _parabatai_ continued. "This is how the Clave works." _The Clave can suck it._ "We don't get to control everything that happens. But you have to trust them—" _No I don't_ , "—because otherwise everything turns into chaos."

 _So let it turn into chaos._ Jace bit the inside of his cheek, surprised by the thought. Was that really what he wanted? And it wasn't like he didn't understand what Alec was saying, he did. He also knew that his brother thought he was being paranoid and overtly suspicious. But he had very right to be, didn't he? Looking at Alec, Jace contemplated his words. Maybe he _was_ being too suspicious. Maybe he needed to stop punishing the Clave for the actions of a rogue Inquisitor. "But they've screwed up a lot recently—you have to admit that."

"Maybe," Alec nodded. "But if you start thinking you know better than the Clave and better than the Law, what makes you any better than the Inquisitor? Or Valentine?" And Jace winced painfully, the comparison like a blow to his very core. Was that true? Was that really what Alec saw when he looked at his _parabatai?_ Someone no better than the Inquisitor who had tortured him? Or worse . . . his father? It was one thing to hear it from others, for they meant nothing to Jace. But to hear it from Alec—his brother; his best friend . . . he wasn't sure he could handle that. Something on his face must have given away his thoughts, cause Alec's eyes widen suddenly. "I'm sorry," he said quickly with sincere regret. Reaching out a hand to Jace, his brother shook his head. "I didn't mean that—"

Jace was saved from having to respond as the front door behind them opened, sending golden light slicing through the night. And they both turned around at the same time to look up at Izzy. She was standing silhouetted in the doorway. But it was her hands on her hips, her foot tapping, that gave her away. "What are you two _doing_ out here?" She asked irritably. "Everyone's wondering where you are."

"Jace—"

Casting a sidelong glance at Alec, Jace's heart gave a painful lurch. And then he was angry. Angry at his father, angry at Clary—at Simon and Alec and Maryse. And he was angry at the Clave for forcing him to question them. Jumping to his feet, he completely and pointedly ignored his brother's outstretched hand. "You'd better be right about the Clave," he snapped. And then he turned on his heel and marched back toward the house without another word to him.

At the door, Isabelle met his eyes, a frown tugging on her full lips. "Did everything—did Simon make it back okay?"

Jace bit down on his cheek as he decided how best to answer. "Yup," he said finally, forcing a fake smile on his face. "According to your brother, everything went peachy." And with that he stalked through the house, up the two flights of stairs to his attic room, and threw himself on his bed. Alec came in some time later, but said nothing as he undressed and crawled into his own bed. And it wasn't long before the sound of rhythmic breathing rent the air.

Unfortunately, it wasn't Jace who had fallen into such a quick slumber—something he envied his brother for. In the quiet of the room, he could hear his watch ticking out the seconds, minutes, and hours that he was awake. And then he watched from the small window as the suns morning rays stretched along the green western hills of Idris, bathing them in gold. Closing his eyes, he saw Clary as he always did. This time she was standing on the hills where the sun met the land; dancing in the tall grass, her fiery hair whipping around her in the cool breeze as she beckoned him to join her. And Jace smiled, his hand reaching out to her as he finally succumbed to the bliss of broken sleep.

* * *

 _ **AN:**_ _Thank you to all my readers and for the awesome reviews! I can't tell you how much I appreciate them! And I hope you liked Alec's POV. I always knew I had wanted to include that small bit of camaraderie between the Shadowhunter and the Vampire. Oh, and also, obviously I added just a bit more Romanian to the story, so for those who don't know what Jace and Sebastian are saying, I included the translation below:_

 _Let's see how well you really speak Romanian, asshole. And then Jace smiled. "Why do you think I was listening to your conversation?"_

 _"You've been watching me since you got here." Sebastian pointed out, and Jace felt his smile falter. "I can't tell if you don't like me or if you're just this suspicious of everyone."_

 _Anyway! I hope you all liked it! And as always, **Please review!**_


	6. The Calm Before The Storm

**~ Chapter Five ~**  
 **The Calm Before The Storm**

Jace woke up blinking into the sunlight, thinking immediately of Clary and how her fiery hair would look in the golden rays streaming in through the window. Shaking his head he rolled over and saw that Alec's bed was empty—not unsurprising, as he was usually always awake before him. And then, looking at the watch he'd finally set to Idris time, he groaned. He'd only fallen asleep two hours ago—not nearly enough time to be considered well rested. But then, when was he ever "well rested" these days? Snatching up his stele off the expensive hard liquor nightstand, he flopped on his back and pulled his shirt up; immediately carving the runes of energy and stamina into his abdomen. And then just for good measures, he included the nourishment rune simply because he knew that his eating habits as of late weren't the best.

Lying there and allowing the runes to take effect, he realized that today was the first day since coming to Idris that he didn't have anything to really worry about. Clary was safe in New York and the vampire had been sent back. The tension in his chest seemed to dissipate at the very thought, and he wasn't sure whether he should whoop with laughter or cry with relief. Kicking the blankets off himself, he sat up and stared around the small attic room. It was cozy. Too cozy. And Jace was already feeling restless. He had spent way too long cooped up in the house and he was itching to do something. To get out. He got dressed quickly and bounded out the door.

Flinging himself down the stairs and across the hallway, he stopped hesitantly in front of a shut door. He had barely spoken to the youngest Lightwood since everything had happened . . . except to kick him out of the study yesterday in order to talk to Simon. Jace had seen how hurt Max had been by that, given how much the young boy looked up to him. And now, staring at the shut door, Jace knew exactly what he could do to make it up to him. Knocking softly on Max's bedroom door, he waited. But there was no reply. The boy must have still been sleeping. _At least someone came sleep._ Shrugging, Jace pushed the door open quietly and took a swift step inside before closing it just as softly behind him.

The room was small, barely fitting the one bed and night stand, and the single window had the curtains drawn, casting the room in shadows. Taking light steps across the hardwood floor, Jace sat on the edge of Max's bed and stared down fondly at the sleeping boy. He was tangled in his blankets, his book resting open on top of him.

"Max."

"Maaaax."

"Pssst."

"MAX!"

"What, who, why?" Max shot up like an arrow, his hair in disarray as he stared around the room blinking away the sleep and knocking his book to the floor. Jace gave a breath of laughter.

"All you're missing is the 'where, when, and how,' kiddo," he said softly, ruffling his little brothers unruly hair. And then reaching toward the nightstand, he plucked a pair of eye glasses up and handed them to the small boy who still seemed to be struggling to wake up.

Taking them and putting them on, Max looked wide eye at Jace. "Is—is something wrong?"

"Nope," said Jace, pushing up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. And then his brow furrowed. "Well, that's not completely true. You see, yesterday, I unceremoniously chucked you out of the study, and I wanted to apologize."

Max shrugged before leaning over the side of the bed to pick his book up off the floor. "It's okay," he said when he came back up, trophy in hand. And Jace watched silently as his kid brother found his place in it and dog eared the corner of the page.

Shaking his head, Jace frowned. "No, it's not," he said, his hand darting forward and relieving Max of his book, turning it absently in his fingers. _I will never understand Clary's reading preferences._ Shaking away the thought, he tossed it on the bed and watched as it landed among the folds of tangled blankets. "Which is why I'm going to make it up to you."

"Makeituptome?" Max yawned, staring in the direction of his book. And then he smiled sheepishly up at Jace. "Sorry. I meant, how are you gonna make up to me?"

"Well, I was thinking . . ." Jace leaned in toward his brother, but made as a show of casting a cautious glance back at the door as his voice took on a low conspiratorial tone. "Maybe we could sneak out. Just me and you."

Max's face lit up. "Really? Just the two of us?"

"Yup," Jace beamed, leaning back. "Not far from here, maybe about thirty minutes outside Alicante, there's a very pretty pond. I haven't been to it since before I came to New York, but it should be safe now."

At that, Max's eyes went even wider. "Safe? Was it not safe before?"

"Not at all," Jace frowned deeply. "It used to have the worst, most vile creatures known to man living there—worse than demons even. Vicious creatures who would take no prisoners if they were capable."

"What were they?" Max asked, his voice a hushed whisper.

"Ducks."

Max blinked, perplexed. "Ducks?"

"Yes," Jace nodded solemnly. "Bird-like monsters, large billed beaks, superior ego complex . . . never trust a duck."

"Ducks . . ."

Jace could see the word sinking in and the smile slowly forming of Max's face. _Don't you dare laugh. Don't you do it! You have no idea how horrible_ —Max began to giggle. "You don't like ducks?"

"And ducks don't like me," Jace said, getting to his feet and stretching. He was strangely okay with Max knowing about his dislike of the terrifyingly foul birds. It was not something he told many people. In fact, Max was the first person he had ever told. _Can't have people running around knowing my weaknesses, now can I._ And then he turned slowly toward Max. "You can't tell anyone about this, by the way," Jace said, glancing down at his brother. "About my dislike for ducks, I mean. If people found out that _I_ had a weakness . . . it would be anarchy! Pandemonium would break out in the streets. Demons everywhere would get the idea to throw ducks at me—" Jace shuddered, "—and I would be powerless to stop them."

Max was in a full laughing fit now, and Jace smiled at hearing the innocence of the sound. "But they're just ducks!" he wheezed, holding the stitch in his side as he fell over on his bed.

"They are most decidedly _not_ just ducks," Jace disagreed, moving toward the door. "Now, when you're done laughing at me, get dressed. I'll be downstairs waiting." He paused in the doorway and turned back toward his brother. "Oh, and make sure you have a weapon with you. If there are any ducks present, I will have to rely on you to save me for I will most assuredly be immobilized with fear." With that, Jace left to the sound of Max choking on his laughter as he struggled to get out of bed.

Downstairs, Aline was in the kitchen humming to herself as she pulled food out of the fridge. He felt immediately guilty upon seeing her. She was trying so hard to help him get over Clary—not that she knew it was Clary he had to get over. _Thank the Angel,_ Jace thought. _That's a whole line of questioning I really don't want to have to answer._ But all the same, he knew it wasn't going to work. He had known it back when she had suggested the whole trial relationship to begin with. And now he was going to have to try to let her down gently. At the time, she had said they'd still be friends and there would be no hard feelings. He hoped she meant it.

"Breakfast?" She asked without looking up.

Jace hesitated. His nourishment rune was making him feel full already. "Um, no thanks."

Aline shot up and turned to look at him, her dark eyes wide with surprise. "Oh! I didn't realize it was you."

"Expecting someone else?" he asked curiously, the corner of his lips ticking upward as he leaned casually against the wall.

Aline shook her head and then nodded, her short raven hair falling into her eyes. "Sebastian," she explained. "I thought you were him."

Jace had to keep from scowling at the comparison, and instead schooled his expression into one of bored amusement. "And now that you have realized the severity of your mistake?"

"Severity?" Aline asked, her eyes shining as she crossed the room toward him. _What are you doing?_ "I didn't realize you found the mistake to be such a horrible one." Her lips pulled into a seductively evil grin—one that made Jace uncomfortable, though he didn't move or show it as she came to a stop in front of him. "But then, perhaps it's because Sebastian is my cousin? And obviously, being attracted to someone who is related would be weird, right? Thank the Angel you're not family."

Jace bit the side of his cheek painfully as her hands snaked up his chest, his heart hammering wildly as he thought of Clary. _If you think being attracted to someone related would be weird, try being in love with them._ He looked down, keeping his face an expressionless mask while at the same time wishing he hadn't backed himself quite literally into a wall. He could really use an escape right now. Aline pressed herself to her toes. "I mean . . . if you were Sebastian, I wouldn't be allowed to do this," she pushed against him, and Jace swallowed, wishing desperately that she wouldn't do that. "And kissing?" She continued. "Well, that would definitely be out."

Aline closed her eyes, her lips parting softly, and Jace stared stupidly at her unsure of what he was supposed to do—though he was pretty sure his eyebrows had left his head with as quickly as they had darted upward. And it wasn't like he didn't know what _she_ wanted him to do . . . he did. It couldn't be more obvious. He just wasn't sure what he _should_ do. On the one hand he was technically allowed to kiss her because, as she had made so painfully clear (whether she knew it or not), they weren't related. But on the other hand . . . she wasn't Clary. And he didn't think he wanted to ever kiss someone who wasn't Clary. _Oh dear God, she's gonna wonder why I'm hesitating. Maybe I could fake a seizure._

"I'm ready!"

Aline jumped back, her face flushing as Max walked in. But Jace only looked at his little brother with relief, his pent up breath going out of him like a deflated balloon. _Thank you, thank you, thank you, you wonderfully oblivious boy!_ But he regained his composure quickly as Aline met his eyes—even managing to give her a disappointed grin, like he, too, was devastated at the interruption. "Kids," Jace shrugged, pushing himself off the wall, silently thanking the space between them now. "Always showing up at the most inopportune moments."

At that, Aline tucked her hair back as she gave an embarrassed but pleased smile. The guilt grew heavier in Jace's chest at the lie that she so readily bought, but he shoved it down and ignored it. He knew that he would have to deal with it eventually, but now was not the time. _Because I don't want to_. He turned to Max, who was staring back and forth between him and Aline curiously. _Don't ask._ He was wearing dark blue jeans and a black long sleeve shirt pulled over what Jace could tell was a small dagger attached to his belt. All he needed now were his runes and he would look just like Alec with glasses. Jace couldn't hide the real smile from forming at the thought. Only a couple more years and Max would get his first rune. Turning apologetically to Aline, he gestured back to his kid brother. "We're going out today. Some family time."

"Oh!" She said brightly, looking at Max as she pulled a carton of eggs from the fridge and set them on the counter. The flush in her cheeks had returned to normal now. "That sounds like fun!"

"Yep!" Max said excitedly, and then turned to Jace, lifting his shirt to show him the dagger. "And I brought this just in case—" his eyes cast a cautious glance toward Aline, "—you know."

Jace face-palmed as she stared at the two of them dumbfounded. "Your covert skills leave something to be desired," he said, wrapping his arm around Max's shoulders and dragging him playfully toward the back door, snatching their jackets off the coat rack in the process. "Lets go, kiddo. I know what we'll be working on today."

As they left the house, Jace heard Aline laughing and calling out for them to have fun.

Forty minutes later (due to the slower pace they had taken), Jace and Max were moving across a large sprawling stretch of grass that moved away from Alicante. On some level, he knew that if he kept going in this direction, they would reach the his old home. Not that it had ever really been his home. It was the Wayland Manor, and he wasn't a Wayland. The thought made him bitter, but for reasons that had nothing to do with the lie. Shaking his head, he looked at Max. The boy had not complained about the walk once. He had simply stared around Alicante and then the Idris meadows with wide curious eyes.

"Not much further," Jace said and then pointed toward a rise in the ground. "See that hill there? It's on the other side of it."

Max smiled, looking at it and then threw a challenging glance at Jace. "Wanna race?"

"Now Max," Jace grinned, "That would hardly be fair—"

"GO!" Max cried out, laughing as he flew forward. Jace stood there staring, the smile still on his face as he watched his little brother run as fast as his short legs could carry him. Looking at his watch, he decided he'd give the kid another few seconds head start before he'd run after him.

 _And three . . . two . . . one._ Jace ran steadily and without really pushing himself. And He was already gaining on Max, who had looked behind him to see where his big brother was. _Never look back . . . it can cause you to—shit!_

Max tripped, crying out as he fell ass over feet and disappearing down the other side of the hill. Now Jace really did push himself to run, clearing the hill and racing down it within seconds. Max was lying on his back, his eyes closed and breathing hard. When he looked up again, surprise painted his face. "Whoa," he said, staring up at Jace. "Where'd you come from?"

And Jace frowned. _Did you hit your head or something?_ Maryse would kill him if that were the case. "What do you mean?" he asked with concern, kneeling down gently.

"I mean," Max sat up on his elbows, "I fell, rolled, stopped, blinked, and boom . . . there you were. I could have sworn you were further behind me." _Oh. That. The speed thing . . . do I really move that quickly?_ But even as he thought it, he knew the answer. Jace smiled and shrugged in response as Max got to his feet. "I hope I'm that fast someday." _No, you don't. Not like this_. And then he frowned down at Jace, who was still kneeling in the grass. "You're not wearing a speed rune are you?"

Jace shook his head. "Not today."

"Good," Max said, stretching and then staring off somewhere past Jace. "Not that it would have helped. I won."

Turning, Jace saw the pond not far from them, looking just as it had when he had been there years before. The water glistened and sparkled under the sun while the emerald trees blew lazily in the soft breeze, the golden sunlight moving greenly through their leaves. And the wild bell-flowers spotted the hillside with their lavender and periwinkle hues; ringing soundlessly under the airs gently touch. Jace stole a glance at his kid brother to see what he thought, and was not disappointed. Max was staring wide eyed and open mouthed at the sight. The awe on his face was endearing.

Hopping lightly to his feet, Jace wiped his hands off on his pants. "So," he said, looking around. "Are you ready for some light training?" And Max stared at him, probably thinking what Jace already knew. Most young Shadowhunters didn't start their training until after they were Marked with their first Rune. But there were those, _like me,_ who started earlier than that. Hell, when _he_ was nine, Jace's father had shown him how to kill a man from behind with a methodically placed blade—not that he would be showing his brother that particular move. "Come on," he said tugging lightly at Max's jacket. "Nothing major . . . just some balancing. This place has a good array of stepping stones to learn on."

Max beamed, looking like all his dreams had come true. "Yeah, okay!"

Near the pond, Jace took off his jacket and began to disarm himself. He made sure to lay his seraph blades down meticulously on his jacket while Max watched silently, before removing his own jacket and unsheathing his own small dagger. Jace smiled as his kid brother tried to smooth his jacket out as carefully as he had, before placing his solitary weapon on it. It really was flattering that Max wanted to be like him. It gave him a sense of belonging even when he felt he didn't belong anywhere. He may not always do everything right, but he knew Max would never judge him or fault him for it. Max just wanted him around.

With his heart swelling, Jace made his way toward the stepping stones, Max close on his heels. "Okay," he said, hoping up onto one of the rocks lightly. "Here's what you do."

And then they trained. They worked on balancing and light-footedness. They worked on ducking and running on uneven terrain. And they laughed. Jace couldn't remember the last time he had laughed like that. Or had fun. Or had just been allowed to let down his guard and be himself for once, without the expectation to be something he wasn't. And Max . . . that kid was like a sponge, absorbing everything Jace showed him and repeating it until the got it correct. He had forgotten how easy it was to be around Max. Later, they would go near the pond and Jace would show him the different wildlife; tadpoles, frogs, fish. It was nice not being surprised by nixies or pixies showing up. Just simple things—squirrel scampering up trees and lizards darting under rocks. And then, at the request of Max, they laid in the soft grass and watched the clouds drift idly by while pointing out shapes that reminded them of things. You know, the usual stuff; like that one there could have been a faerie. And over there, a shax demon.

Rolling on his stomach, Jace laid his head on his arms and peeked out at Max who was pointing out a rune shaped cloud. "Well kiddo," he sighed as the afternoon sun beat down on him, warming his back. "I think it's time to go."

"Really?" Max frowned, pushing himself into a sitting position. "But—" He cut himself off, his eyes going wide as he looked off toward the pond. And then his lips began to tick upward. "Uh oh, don't look now."

This of course, made Jace flip over and look and— _son of a bitch!_ A large— _were they really that large?_ —Mallard had come waddling regally out of a nearby bush. It's head was bobbing around in that grotesque fashion that it did as its creepy beady little eyes fell on Jace. He felt himself tense at the familiarity of the bird; it's shimmering green head completely clashing with its tan and dark brown body, and—seriously, when had ducks gotten that big? Was it a freak of nature? _Of course it is, it's a duck,_ Jace thought venomously. Jumping quickly to his feet, Jace snatched up one of his blades. "Stay here, Max." And then, with his heart pounding against his chest like a running horse on cement, he set off toward the loathsome bird.

The duck charged.

Crying out at the stupid birds boldness, Jace only barely had enough time to dive to the side as the duck flew past him. It was angrily squawking as its long wings clipped his leg. Jace shuddered repulsively. Rolling on the ground, he popped up to his feet and turned to face the hateful thing once more. The duck had turned to face Jace as well, lowering its creepy head and—s _eriously did you just swipe your foot across the ground? I thought only bulls did that._ With the blade held in his hand, Jace gestured at the bird. _Lets go, asshole._

And then a short dark haired boy shot between the two of them. Max was holding his side, dying with laughter as he called for the two of them to stop. "Jace," he wheezed between his laughing fit. "I didn't—I didn't think you were being serious about the ducks!"

But, "Get that duck away from me!" was all Jace could think to say in response, and the severity of his high pitched tone when he said it was not lost on him. _Thank the Angel Clary's not here._

"Okay," Max laughed, waving Jace away. "Hold on." And then he turned toward the duck and Jace gasped.

"Don't go near it!" he called after his brother with terror. "It might . . . it might . . ."

"Beak me to death?" Max giggled. "Yeah, yeah . . . I'll be careful!" And then he turned his back on Jace and marched directly up to the duck, who looked like it had lowered its head shamefully in Max's towering presence. Jace on the other hand, was torn between snatching his little brother out of danger and the fact that to do so would mean approaching the foul creature.

"Now listen here, Mr. Duck," Max said sternly. "I don't know what you're doing by trying to scare—" Max began laughing before composing himself. "Trying to scare my—" Laughter again. Somehow Jace knew he was never going to live this down. And then Max straitened to his full height, which still wasn't very tall. "Just knock it off, okay?" He burst out.

The duck, however, quaked indignantly, and Jace found himself hollering. "I did not start it! You started it!" Max turned around, his brow arching as he stared at his brother like he was nuts. Behind him the bird flapped his wings rudely at Jace. "Did you see that?" Jace pointed. "He . . . he gave me the bird!"

Max completely lost it. "Jace, he _is_ a bird!" he said, choking on his laughter before turning back to the stupid ugly duck. "And you! Go on, go." he shooed the duck away with his arms. "Get out of here and leave my . . . and leave . . ." Max could barely speak through his laughter. "Oh, just go on and leave."

And the duck left, turning and flipping its tail at Jace— _yeah, same to you buddy,_ it disappeared back into the bushes at the same moment that Max fell to his knees, howling as the laughter became too much to bear.

Pulling his shoulders back, and trying to salvage what was left of his dignity, Jace approached his little brother. "If you tell anyone about this, I may be forced to kill you. Or at the very least, use a rune to seal your mouth." This only made Max laugh harder; but somehow, between the gasps and wheezes and howls, he managed to sputter out a promise that Jace's secret was safe with him. Shaking his head, he reached down and picked his brother up off the ground and threw him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Slowly, they began the long trek back to the Penhallows.

Back inside Alicante, they raced again. Jace watched with amusement as his kid brother took the lead, and bounded up the back steps and inside the house. "I won!" He shouted, as Jace closed the door behind them.

"No one liked a braggart," Jace said sternly, though he couldn't help but smile as his kid brother went to the fridge and pulled out a bowl of cut up mango's.

"Want one?" he offered as he popped one in his mouth. But at that moment, Aline walked in and leaned against the doorframe. Her shirt was unbuttoned, showing off slightly too much cleavage—though if Jace were in his right mind, he might have thought it was a perfect amount of cleavage. Biting the inside of his cheek, he tried to keep his face neutral as he met Aline's dark eyes. He was going to have to end whatever this was. He just hoped it wouldn't be too hard for her.

Ruffling Max's hair, he smiled "No thanks, kiddo. But I had a blast today."

"Me too." Max said with a grin. "Do you want to do something else?"

"Actually, I have something I need to do in the study," Jace smiled, while throwing a suggestive glance at Aline, who smiled and nodded and slipped out of the room unseen by Max.

"Oh," his kid brother frowned. "Want me to come?"

Jace sighed. "Not this time, Max. I got some grown-up stuff to take care of. But when I'm done, you can have me for the rest of the day. Promise."

Max seemed to perk up a bit at this. "Okay. Well, I'll go read one of my books. But first, food." And Jace laughed as Max turned back toward the fridge, remembering how hungry he used to get after training. "You'll come find me when you're done?" his little brother's muffled voice called out.

"You got it, kiddo."

And then, with a deep breath, Jace left the kitchen and ran smack into Isabelle. "Where have you been?" she demanded, her hands on her hips. "Don't answer that," she cut him off before he even had a chance to open his mouth, and Jace raised a brow. "Aline told me—and you're lucky she did."

"Well, I'm glad she told you." Jace said blankly. "It was sort of a spur of the moment thing." And then he thought of about a thousand different things he could say, but he knew all of them would simply be said in an effort to stall from having to talk to the girl he knew was waiting for him upstairs. Instead he sighed. "I'm going to talk to Aline in the study, and—"

Izzy's eyes lit up, grinning. "Is that what we're calling it these days?"

 _Oh shut up_. Jace rolled his eyes. "And I just thought you should know that Max might be attempting to eat the entirety of the fridge."

"I am not!" came the muffled sound of Max from the other room. Along with something that sounded suspiciously like the word "traitor."

Both Jace and Isabelle laughed before she pushed her way past Jace and made her toward the kitchen. Stopping in the archway, Iz looked back at Jace, a smile playing on her lips. "Don't worry . . . I'll make sure you two have some privacy." And with that, she winked and disappeared.

Shaking his head, Jace trudged up the back stairs and dragged his feet down the hallway toward the study; pushing open the door as if it weighed a ton.

 _What the . ._ . It was all he had time to think before he was knocked backward. Aline was in his arms, her face slamming painfully into his as her nose poked him in the eye. _By the Angel, what . . ._ And then her mouth began to practically eat his lips, effectively tearing him away from any thought he might have conjured. The force of it, of her bowling into him, was what had shoved him backward. And his back hit the door, forcefully slamming it shut as he caught her. But just as quickly as it had started, it ended. Looking absolutely terrified, her cheeks flushed beet red, Aline backed away quickly. Her eyes were as wide as his felt. _What the shit was that?_

"By the Angel," she said, rubbing her nose. "I'm sorry. That's not quite how I pictured that going!"

Jace, who was rubbing at his eye, tried to smile. "Um . . . it's okay?"

"It's just," she continued hastily, "I didn't think you were going to kiss me." She was pacing the floor now. "And well, how could you move on if you broke up with me before you even kissed me?"

Jace bit the inside of his cheek. "Well," he mused, following the obviously very embarrassed Aline further into the room while trying to ignore the stinging in his eye. "If I _were_ going to kiss you, I doubt it would have been like that."

"I'm know," Aline said wretchedly. "I promise, I'm usually much better at it. It's just . . . You're not usually the type I kiss."

Jace laughed at that; part of him wanting to ask what type it was that she did kiss, and the other part feeling it was none of his business. And she was still pacing. Taking pity on her, he shot his hand out to stop her and pulled her against his chest for a hug. She was sweet. And in another life, she might have even been perfect for him. Besides, all she had wanted to do was help him move on. That was all. But she also seemed to know—Jace frowned down at her. "How _did_ you know?" he asked out loud. "That I was going to try to end our kinda-sorta relationship?"

At that, Aline wrapped her arms tentatively around his waist. "It's a bit obvious," she breathed with shaky laughter. "I mean . . . I don't blame you. I said I wouldn't. And I don't think it would would have work out between us anyway. But I mean . . . we hadn't even kissed yet! So I thought that maybe it would help if we had." He felt her shake her head. Tightening his arms around her, he couldn't help but to sigh. He also couldn't help but to think of how wrong she felt against him—and how right her words were. Short of holding hands, they really hadn't done much to attempt a real relationship. Not that it was her fault. It was his. All his. "Look, Jace, I get it. Whoever this girl was—"

Grabbing her face, Jace pressed his lips against hers, feeling as her mouth opened in surprise before she relaxed into it. Snaking his arms around her waist, he pulled her closer, his tongue sweeping along her lower lip before darting into her mouth. And Aline, she didn't pull away. With her arms traveling up Jace's chest, she locked them around his neck, her lips working with his. But it was all wrong. All of it. She didn't taste right. She was too tall. She didn't smell like lavenders or—Jace pressed himself harder into the kiss, willing it to be right. To feel right. Tried to let it consume him like when he was kissing Clary. But no matter what he did, Aline just wasn't—

The sound of the door slamming shut ripped them apart, and Jace felt his stomach drop as horror gripped his every being. _No, no, no!_ He felt like he was drowning, trying desperately to drag in breath, but unable to. _Please, God, no._ Standing in front of them, staring at them in shock and horror and pain . . . so much pain that it ripped Jace apart piece by piece, were the Idris eyes he would know anywhere. _Clary._ But it was impossible. It couldn't be! _No, no, no . . . you're supposed to be in New York!_ And yet she wasn't. _Dear God, she wasn't._

She was here, and so very, very real.

* * *

 _ **AN:** I know it's a shorter chapter, but I hope you guys liked it! I always wanted to give Max some time because well . . . you all know why. Anyhoo, a big monstrous thank you as always to my readers! You guys rock! _

**_Please Review!_**


	7. The Storm

**~ Chapter Six ~  
The Storm  
**

When Jace was seven, his father walked in on him cheating on a test. He hadn't been paying much attention during his lessons at the time, nor had he been studying like he claimed he had. His father, having become suspicious, caught Jace off guard with a surprise exam, and Jace knew he had to do something. He didn't know nearly enough of the answers to the the questions—not that he was going to admit that. Especially not when he knew the type of punishment it would incur him. And so instead, he had waited for his father to leave the room and then ran over to the book shelf, hoping desperately to find the answers he needed.

His father walked in on him mid-page flip.

He had not been able to move much after that—not that his father cared. _"It is not my fault that you chose to cheat, Jonathan."_ His father had said at the time. _"So I will not have my time wasted simply because you were punished for your dishonesty."_ Jace was made to study and ignore the pain that the hard wooden chairs caused him every time he sat. And he was forced to train, enduring the belt sized lacerations that crossed his back as they seared and reopened with each movement.

Jace always made sure to study after that; and he never cheated on an exam again—the punishment far worse than it would have been had he just been honest.

But now, in this moment, Jace couldn't be more aware of the fact that he had apparently learned absolutely _nothing_ from that lesson.

Except that _this_ punishment . . .?

This was worse.

This was infinitely worse.

Jace would gladly take his fathers belt to every part of his body—every piece of flesh and bone—than to have Clary standing there looking at him.

And _Dear God_ , _what was she wearing?!_ His eyes damn near popped out of his head as he bit down hard enough on the inside of his cheek to draw blood. The black Shadowhunter gear— _Where did you get Shadowhunter gear?!_ —tightly hugged the small curves that he knew she didn't think she had. She _definitely_ had them. And the gear _definitely_ accentuated those curves to what Jace would consider a heart-stopping degree— _s_ _top staring at her chest!_ But the gear also kept her sleek and deadly at the same time. He knew from experience how fluidly one could move inside it. How quickly _he_ could move in it. Expelling his breath, Jace's gaze traveled back up her body and he groaned inwardly. Her curls were raining deliciously over her shoulders becoming the fiery waterfall he always preferred. _Are you trying to kill me?_ She looked—he swallowed—she looked fierce and sexy and dangerous. She looked like a Shadowhunter. _By the Angel, I can't do this._ He could feel his body tensing up the longer he stared at her, heat spreading through his limbs.

And then he met her eyes.

He couldn't breathe. _No, no, no._ He could feel his lips part, and still, he couldn't drag in air; his lungs unable to move under his constricted chest. God hated him. That had to be it. God . . . the Angel _. . . the entire heavenly fucking army . . ._ they all hated him. _  
_

It was like time slowed down for Jace, the moment that door slammed shut. Like he was watching from the outside of his body almost. There was Aline, flying out of his embrace; and him, whirling toward the door and seeing . . . _Oh, God._ Her wide emerald eyes were shattered, and he felt like he was the one holding the hammer that had destroyed them. She had seen them— _by the Angel,_ she had seen them. That was when his breath had become restricted and an intense frenzied panic began blooming in the pit of his stomach. It made his skin crawl like he was covered in thousands upon thousands of ants. And he felt nauseous. _What are you doing here?!_ Staring at the nightmare come to life in front of him, Jace was vaguely aware of the other girl crying out in surprise _._ She might have even spoken—he wasn't sure. He only had eyes for Clary right now. _She's here . . . she's in Idris. She didn't stay in New York . . . she didn't listen._ In the span of a second, he could feel himself spiraling downward—could feel his panic turning into anger. He wanted to scream at her. He wanted to grab her and demand to know what she was doing there. Didn't she know the trouble she would be in? And yet . . . he did nothing. He only just stood there, unable to move. Unable to breathe. And wishing more than anything that this was just a nightmare. That he would wake up and this wouldn't be real. _Please, please, don't be real._ He could beg all he wanted. It wouldn't change anything. This was real. _She_ was real. The truth of it hit him like a diesel truck, but with a pain far worse than a body being physically broken.

Jace had always thought that looking at Clary was like taking the freshest, purist, air into his lungs—so why couldn't he breathe?

And if looking at her pained him so much, why couldn't he look away?

 _You know why._

Clary gave a shuttering breath and time sped back up.

With her mouth parted, her lower lip trembled and Jace clenched his fist. But her eyes—those Idris eyes—burned with anger and devastation and pain so real that Jace wished he could do something to take it away. _Punish me, not her. Not her._ And they burned with questions he couldn't possibly answer. They were the only eyes in the world that could make him want to drop to his knees and beg to be loved. To be held.

Digging his heels into the ground, Jace restrained himself, irritated that he even had to do so. His body shouldn't still be reacting to her like that, but it did. He knew it always would. And yet none of it mattered. He had done everything— _everything_ —to keep her at home! To keep her safe! She couldn't be here. Not now _. Not her._ He had failed her, whether she knew it or not. _Why. Why couldn't you stay?_ He still wanted to grab her and hug her but he wanted to push her away, too. He wanted to beg for forgiveness while screaming at her for coming. If the Clave found out she was here— _shit._ Jace blinked slowly. _Shit, shit, shit._ Did they already know? They _had_ to know, didn't they? But Jace regrettably already knew the answer. If the Clave knew she was here, someone would have told him— _Alec_ would have told him. It would be all this _fucking_ city talked about—the daughter of Valentine showing up in Alicante. He had heard nothing. Which meant Clary was here illegally. His heart constricted painfully, the blood draining from his face at the thought. _By the Angel, Clary, what have you done._

And then Jace heard Aline ask Clary who she was, and he gave a slight start. He had completely forgotten she was there. _Well this can't get any more terrible, can it?_ _Why not start the introductions._ Jace felt anything but humor at the thought. There was only horror, panic, anger, despair, and guilt, all rolled up inside an extremely ill temperament. The worlds worst burrito. "Aline," Jace spoke with an icy calm that threatened to crack; never taking his off the redheaded girl that would be his undoing. "This is my sister, Clary."

"Oh. _Oh._ Sorry!" Aline said sheepishly, moving into Jace's line of sight as she approached Clary with her hand out. "What a way to meet you," she continued. "Hi, I'm Aline."

Biting the inside of his cheek, Jace watched as Clary's stared at the girl with a look of dread and dismay; her head shaking imperceptibly and her body recoiling. And then her wide tortured eyes met Jace's, ripping him apart with their honesty. _I can't touch her,_ they screamed—damn near begged. And Jace's hands flew out of their own accord, catching Aline by the shoulders. He could feel Clary's gaze on him as he bent low to Aline's ear and his stomach twisted wretchedly. "I need to speak with her alone—can you give us a minute?" he whispered, thankful and genuinely surprised to hear that his voice was calmer than he felt. Aline stared at him with baffled eyes, but to Jace's relief, she didn't question it or Clary's behavior. Instead, she smiled and shrugged.

As she walked past Clary, Jace, who had meant to watch her go, was instantly pulled back into emerald orbs that demanded his attention. They were like magnets. A golden sunrise over an Idris meadow. But this time, there was a storm. In fact, the sound of the study door closing softly was the only reason Jace knew they were alone now. Nor was it lost on him that it was the first time they had been alone together since the train-wreck at the Institute when he had begged her to stay in New York. _Much good that did._ She was painful to look at and yet having not seen her these last few days . . . he also couldn't help but to stare greedily at her face. Neither of them spoke as they looked at each other. He missed her. He missed her more than he had any right to. And he could tell she was hurting—that _he_ had hurt her. He also knew that there was nothing that he could do or say to ease her pain. And then he was panicking all over again, and the rage he felt from before quickly replaced his moment of longing. _Why the fuck are you here? Why didn't you stay?_ Chomping down hard on his cheek, he began clenching and unclenching his fists again.

Clary, watching him with those eyes that made it hard to concentrate, took a step toward him. "Jace—"

 _No._ Jace moved back away from her, his head giving a sharp jerk as his pulse spiked. He couldn't be near her. Not when he knew that he might have to break her more than he already had. _Please, please, don't make me do that, Clary,_ he thought miserably. He would have to make her leave, somehow. She couldn't be here. _Not her_. Not with the Clave. They had already started treating him like shit—he would be damned if he would allow them to treat her the same. But then, if she was here illegally, he didn't know if he would be able to stop them. His mouth popped open in horror as the realization spread fearfully through him. If she had come here illegally like he suspected, they would have every right to arrest and take her. There would be nothing— _absolutely fucking nothing_ —he would be able to do to stop them. He would have to do something. _Not her._

Shaking his head slowly, his golden eyes burned into hers. _Why didn't you just stay in New York, Clary?_ _Why are . . . how did . . ._ _"What,"_ he finally got out, his voice as taught as stretched wire, _"in the name of the Angel,_ Clary, are you doing here?" She winced at his words and a knife pierced his heart. But he didn't move to comfort her. He couldn't. No matter how much it physically and mentally pained him . . . he would have to endure it. Just like his father's punishments. Drawing back her shoulders, Clary stared at him pleadingly and he had to cross his arms to keep from reaching for her.

"You could at least pretend you were glad to see me," she whispered. "Even a little bit."

Was that a joke? Was this all some cosmic fucking joke? He wasn't glad to see her! There was a reason he didn't want her there! He wanted to protect her— _needed_ to protect her. Didn't she realize that?! Didn't she know what she meant to him?! She was too important to him to lose! He couldn't lose her. _Not her._ She had to go back to New York. Now. Right now. He was panicking again. But this time, it wasn't just anger it would turn into. For once, Jace didn't bother to hide his emotions. He wanted Clary to see them. Because if she honestly thought that after _everything_ he had done—all his sleepless night, the lies, the schemes—that he would be _happy_ she had come anyway . . . how could she possibly, even for a second, think that? "I'm not glad to see you." The words came bluntly, his mind screaming as she stared at him like he had slapped her. Swallowing, he willed himself to continue—forced himself. And he hated himself for it, but— _you're not safe here._ He would happily endure her hatred and his self loathing if it meant keeping her safe. _I don't want you here_ , he told himself over and over. _I don't want you here._ "Not even a little bit."

Clary crossed her arms angrily. "This isn't you. I hate it when you act like this—"

"Oh, you hate it, do you?" Jace cut her off incredulously. And then he threw his arms up with agitation. "Well, I'd better stop doing it then, hadn't I?" _Because you would_ obliviously _do the same for me._ "I mean," he continued mockingly, "You do everything _I_ ask you to do."

"You had no right to do what you did! Lying to me like that," she snapped, her eyes flashing as she took a step toward him, looking like a panther ready to strike in her gear. The challenging move both traitorously excited Jace while at the same time sending his temper flaring across his body like a wildfire. _I didn't have a right to keep you safe?! To keep you away from the Clave—to keep them from torturing you?! I would rather die than give you to them, Clary, and yet you think—_ "You had no right—"

Jace lost it. "I had _every right!"_ he screamed at her, ignoring the shock and nervous tension on her face. He already felt guilty enough. All the same, he took another step back toward the wall. He needed to put more space between them. Raking his fingers roughly through his hair, his shook his head. He knew that his face was distorted with his anger, but he couldn't help it. He was drowning in uncontrollable rage—rage toward their father, rage toward their mother, and rage toward Clary for not listening to him. For not doing this one thing for him. And he couldn't make it go away anymore than the he could get rid of the panic and horror and despair. "I had _every_ right, you stupid, stupid girl." They would take her . . . they would take her and he would lose her. _And I can't lose you._ _Not you._ She had to leave; to go back to New York. Jace would rather Clary hate him forever but still be in his life, than to ever lose her to the Clave. "I am your brother, and I—"

"And you _what?"_ she breathed, her eyes emerald infernos. "You _own_ me?" The question caught him off guard and for a second, all he could do was stare. And backtrack. That's not what he had meant. _That wasn't—_ "You _don't_ own me." Her voice was deadly. _I know! That's not—_ "Whether you're my brother or not—"

Clary spun around mid-sentence as the door behind her crashed open.

"What in all possible dimensions is going on here?" It was Alec, and he was staring with shocked disbelief at both Jace and Clary. "Are you two _trying_ to kill each other?" _Well, glad to see this day just keeps getting better and better_. Alec was wearing his usual sweater and jeans ensemble and was sporting what might have been a new blue coat. It looked new anyway. Jace also noticed that his _parabatai_ didn't seem the least bit surprised at all to see Clary standing there. _Great, so who else knows she's here?_

Instead of asking—because he _really_ didn't want to know the answer to that—he used the distraction his brothers arrival afforded him to force his face to relax into a calm as delicate as an arctic blade. "Not at all," he said with slow boredom, and Clary's eyes darted to him incredulously. He stared back with indomitable coolness. "Clary was just leaving."

"Good," Alec said with a nod, shutting the door and stepping further into the room. "Because I need to talk to you, Jace." _Of course you do._ Clary, on the other hand, glared at Alec with betrayal, before throwing her hands up.

"Doesn't anyone in this house say, 'Hi, nice to see you," anymore?" She demanded of the ceiling, though Jace had the sneaking suspicion she was trying to guilt Alec. He rolled his eyes as Alec turned to look at her.

"It _is_ good to see you, Clary," Jace's brother frowned, staring at her like he was surprised by her outburst. He probably was. _Sucker_. "Except, of course, for the fact that you're really not supposed to be here." _Point one for Jace!_ "Isabelle told me you got here on your own somehow, and I'm impressed—"

 _Oh, for the love of the Angel,_ "Could you _not_ encourage her?" Jace sighed with exasperation, rubbing at his temples with his thumb and forefinger. So Izzy knew she was here too? _Thanks for keeping her out, Iz. I owe you big for that one._ And then Jace thought idly about the signs and symptoms of a mental break down. Because he was pretty sure he was about to have one. Or already having one— _not_ _that anyone cared._

Alec, who was staring at Jace, shook his head slowly and turned back to Clary as if Jace hadn't spoken at all. "But I really, _really_ need to talk to Jace about something," he implored with an edge to his tone. "Can you give us a few minutes?"

But Clary was unrelenting, crossing her arms and digging her feet in. "I need to talk to him, too," she snapped, refusing to back down as she turned back on Jace. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he stared back and forth between the two of them blankly. He was getting a headache just standing there, and he felt exhausted. He wished more than anything to be somewhere else. _Hi, you've reached Jace. He doesn't want to talk to you right now, so please go away. He'll get back when he's feeling up to it._ Yeah, if only that could really work.

Shaking the thought away, he focused on Alec, as it was much easier to be rude to his best friend than to the girl he loved. "I don't feel like talking," he said without kindness, though his brother had done nothing wrong. And then he cast a sidelong glance at Clary. "To either of you, as a matter of fact."

But Alec wasn't giving up either. "Yes, you do," he said pointedly as Clary's eyes narrowed. "You really want to talk to me about this."

"I doubt it." And then Jace's gaze traveled traitorously back down to the Shadowhunter gear that shaped Clary's body, lingering on the buckles and belt loops. They were empty, waiting for the weapons Jace knew fit into them snugly. _How had she gotten here?_ The question was still bugging him. But maybe it was the wrong question. The real question was who— _who_ _had she come with?_ Jace's stomach sank with horror and panic and terror so deep that it seized his heart and dragged it down too. _Please let me be wrong . . . please let me be . . ._ yet, he knew he wasn't. "You didn't come here alone, did you?" Clary didn't speak at first. She didn't have to. Jace could see it written on her face. _No, no, no . . ._ Closing his eyes, he took a slow painful breath. "Who came with you?"

He knew the answer even before she spoke.

"Luke," she said begrudgingly and if Jace could have gone whiter, he was sure he would have. "Luke came with me."

"But Luke is a Downworlder." Tension corded Jace's voice. "Do you know what the Clave does to unregistered Downworlders who come into the City of Glass?" he admonished. "Who cross the wards without permission? Coming to Idris is one thing, but entering Alicante? Without telling anyone?"

"No," Clary said impatiently. "But I know what you're going to say—"

"That if you and Luke don't go back to New York immediately, you'll find out?" He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. Regretted them the moment Clary staggered back away from him in shock. But he had to do something, didn't he? Because nothing else was working! She couldn't be here. _Go home, Clary. Please, please, please, leave. I don't want to hurt you . . . the very thought of it kills me. But I can't lose you . . . I can't_.

Clary shook her head, staring disbelieving daggers at Jace. He deserved it. He endured it, letting it slice him open. _Please go home, Clary,_ he continued to beg silently. Biting the inside of his cheek, he watched as Clary's mouth worked it's way open, and he braced himself for what he knew must have been coming. But it was Alec who spoke.

"Jace," his _parabatai_ pushed forward, trying to capture Jace's attention away from Clary. It didn't work. "Haven't you wondered where I've been all day?"

"That's a new coat you're wearing," Jace said flatly, without taking his eyes off the girl he loved more than life. "I figure you went shopping. Though why you're so eager to bother me about it, I have no idea."

"I didn't go shopping," Alec snapped irritably. "I went—"

The door flew open again, and it took everything for Jace not to throw his hands in the air and call it quits as Izzy came bounding in. _Great, more audience members._ Shutting the door behind her, she ignored Jace and Alec completely as her eyes fell somberly on Clary.

"I told you he'd freak out," she said, her dark locks bouncing as she shook her head. "Didn't I?"

"Ah, the 'I told you so,'" Jace said scornfully at Iz. "Always a classy move." Now go away.

But It wasn't Iz who responded. It was Clary. She had finally found her voice, and she was still staring wide eyed at Jace. "How can you joke?" she whispered with disbelief, blinking back tears that would crash over him if they broke free. His heart twisted painfully as he looked at her—forcing himself to meet her eyes. She was shaking her head as she stared at him, each bounce of her curls on her shoulders plunging him further and further beneath frigid waters. He never thought Clary would look at him like that. Not ever. "You just threatened Luke. Luke, who likes you and trusts you. Because he's a _Downworlder."_ She hissed the word. Jace swallowed. _Please just go. Go home where its safe. Please . . ._ "What's wrong with you?"

And with an aching so deep it burrowed into his bones, Jace could tell she meant it. She was looking at him like he was a stranger. He couldn't handle that . . . _I can't . . ._ Jace stared at Clary. Not even when they first met, had she ever looked at him like that—like an unknown threat. She had always trusted him. Always. Her lips were beginning to tremble, her Idris eyes shimmering with unshed tears in the afternoon sunlight that streamed through the window. He wanted to reach for her—to stop her from looking at him like that. To tell her the truth and beg for her forgiveness. Beg her to stay with him.

But Izzy was the first to speak. "Luke's here?" She was staring in unbridled horror at Clary. "Oh, Clary—"

And Clary rounded on her. "He's not here," she snapped defensively. "He left—this morning—and I don't know where he went." And then her eyes darted accusingly back to Jace. "But I can certainly see now why he had to go." Her words were venomous and Jace could feel the poison spreading painfully though his veins. He needed to stop her. To explain himself. But if he did . . . she would stay. But would it really be so bad if she stayed? He could protect her. _Fuck!_ He hated not knowing what to do. He felt like there was a game of tug of war raging on in his head. He had tried so hard to keep her away, but she had come anyway. He should have known she would have come anyway.

 _So maybe . . ._

"Fine," Clary said with a defeated tone when no one spoke. She was staring up at the ceiling again, blinking rapidly. Jace bit the inside of his cheek. _If I stop her, she'll stay . . . I can stop all this right now. Please don't look at me like that . . . please._ "You win. We should never have come. I should never have made that Portal—"

Jace became dizzy.

He felt like he was falling down a hole that he knew would end—knew would kill him—but just didn't know when.

 _A_ _Portal?_ She made a _fucking. . ._

He couldn't breathe again; he couldn't get his lungs to draw in air. And he could hear the blood rushing painfully through his veins. _You can create Portals now?_ He thought, praying that it wasn't true. Wishing someone would tell him that he had heard her wrong—that that wasn't how she had gotten here. Somewhere next to him someone spoke, sounding surprised. He thought it might have been Izzy. He couldn't tell. Either way, they weren't saying anything that made Jace feel any better.

Clary's emerald orbs met Jace's, her hair creating a hood around her face, and a he was suddenly jolted with fear. He could so easily see her in the Clave robes that they would no doubt make her wear. _You can create Portals._ This time the thought was loud and clear and undeniable. And if the Clave found out that not only had she come here illegally with Luke—a Downworlder—but that she had gotten here by creating an impossible, nonexistent Portal rune . . . _No, no no._ He couldn't ask her to stay. She had to leave.

She had to get out of Alicante _now._

But he also knew that she wouldn't go. She hadn't gone yet. Not even with him threatening Luke like he had. She would go back to wherever Luke had taken her. But she wouldn't leave. _I really, really wish you weren't so stubborn._ There was only one way he knew would get her to leave, and he didn't want to do it. _But you have to,_ he told himself grimly. He would have to make her go back to New York, and it would require making her hate him enough to want nothing to do with him. It would kill him, but she would be safe. _You need to do this. You need to tell her._ Next to him, Alec was hissing at Jace again— _Tell her._ Jace blinked, biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood again—something about an errand and a package being delivered. _Make her leave! Why are you just standing here?!_

"Alec, stop." Jace snapped. His _parabatai's_ hissing was beginning to sound like a flurry of bees buzzing in his head and it was making it hard to make sense of his words. Package— _You have to do it_ —Errand— _Do not let the Clave take her just because your terrified of the consequences_ —At Night . . . Jace stared at Alec, who was still wagging his jaw. _Are you really bringing up Simon right now?! "Stop."_ Jace could hear how desperate he sounded this time. Apparently his brother could to, cause Alec sucked his breath in, cutting himself off.

 _DO IT._

Turning back to Clary, Jace turned his eyes hard . . . putting as much hate as he could behind his glare.

 _I am so sorry, Clary. I wish I didn't have to do this . . . God, I wish I didn't have to do this. But . . ._

"You were right," he said, choking on the words that tasted like acid in his mouth. "You should never have come." He took a breath and it sent a fissure through his heart. "I know I told it's because it isn't safe for you here, but that wasn't true." She blanched and his heart splintered. "The truth is that I don't want you here because you're rash and thoughtless and you'll mess everything up. It's just how you are. You're not careful, Clary." _Please go home._ But she didn't go home. She didn't move at all as she stared wide eyed at him, her body frozen in place. _  
_

And then her chest began heaving roughly; her gaze shifting into that expression he already hated. The one that clearly said he was a stranger—a threat. But this time he shoved the guilt down as far as he could just as she spoke, repeating his words with choked force. "Mess . . . everything . . . up?" She whispered, looking like she had been hit. In the same moment, Isabelle moved forward with wide sad eyes.

"Oh, _Jace."_ Izzy exhaled wretchedly. She had her hand to her mouth, looking at him with pity and he jerked his head sharply with annoyance. He had always hated pity, and he sure the fuck didn't deserve it right now.

He was being everything he knew Clary hated—saying things he knew would break her. But the worst part was knowing that she honestly thought he meant it, when he didn't. Not for her. _It's about me, Clary. Everything I say . . . it's about me._ And he thought of the first time he met her. How confused and excited and irritated he had felt at being snuck up on. _I had to know you_. He remembered how screwed he had been when he watched her stalk off to Hotel Dumort in a mini-dress and knee high boots for her stupid mundane friend. She had looked so fierce. It was the moment he knew he was in love with her. And while it had been confusing at the time, one thing was certain . . . it wasn't a schoolboy crush. He had become so completely hers. _Even now that we're siblings_ . . . his throat tightened, cutting off the thought. Jace blinked as he looked at the woman he could never have a future with— _I will always be yours, even if you don't want me_ —the only woman he would ever love and was insuring would never love him in in return. He sunk his teeth savagely into his cheek. But her safety was more important than his selfish desires. And he had to keep going. If he stopped now, if he thought about it too long . . . he wasn't sure he would be able to continue.

He swallowed hard, screaming at himself to finish it and get it over with. "You always race ahead without thinking," he said hating himself more and more. "You know that, Clary. We'd never have ended up in the Dumort if it wasn't for you."

"And Simon would be dead!" Clary fired back, her face burning crimson. "Doesn't that count for anything? Maybe it was rash, but—"

 _"Maybe?"_ Jace cut her off, his brow cocking as his voice rose.

"But it's not like every decision I've made was a bad one!" She shot out defensively, glaring at him. "You said, after what I did on the boat—" Jace's mind froze and panic slammed into him. _Stop talking, Clary_. "You said—" _Please stop talking._ He could see from his peripheral as he stared at Clary in horror, that Alec and Izzy's heads were bobbing back and forth between the Jace and Clary in confusion. Jace's heart hammered. _Stop talking right now._ "You said I'd saved everyone's life—"

And Jace completely lost it, growling savagely at her as he shouted, "Shut up, Clary, SHUT UP—"

"On the boat?" Alec asked, and Jace could feel his brother's piercing blue eyes on him; eyes that were probably demanding answers Jace didn't want to give. "What happened on the boat? Jace—"

 _Nothing happened on the fucking boat!_ He rounded on Clary. "I told you that to keep you from whining!" He screamed at her, digging his nails painfully into his palms when she jumped. And yet the words kept coming. "You're a disaster for us, Clary! You're a mundane, you'll always be one, you'll never be a Shadowhunter." His chest constricted painfully. "You don't know how to think like we do, think about what's best for everyone—all you ever think about is yourself! But there's a war on now, or there will be, and I don't have the time or the inclination to follow around after you, trying to make sure you don't get one of us killed!"

And she broke. He could see it in her eyes. Anything she might have ever felt about him—anything good—it was gone. His heart shattered.

No one spoke then. You could have heard a pin drop. And Jace felt drained standing there staring at Clary—knowing that he had just hurt her more deeply than he ever had any right to. He had never spoken to her like that. Not ever. He had only been encouraging of her, and loving. He would set the world on fire if it meant making her happy . . . but now . . . _I'm a monster._ And there was nothing he could do to take it back. Hell, he was expending all of his strength just to keep standing there. Taking a shuddering breath, he turned his wrecked eyes to her. She wasn't moving, but he didn't have anything left in him to say. And even if he did, he wouldn't say them. He had done enough—pushed it too far. "Go home, Clary," he breathed, feeling himself unraveling. _I ruined her._ His whole body was shaking. "Go home."

Without a word, Jace watched a tear fall from Clary's eye as she turned away from him and pushed through Alec and Iz to get to the door. He couldn't take his eyes off her. Her ruby curls, her short slender form, her Idris meadows that he had caused to rain. _Quia peccávi nimis cogitatióne, verbo, ópere et omissióne: mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa._

And then Clary stopped, her hand on the door, and Jace's heart fluttered as she turned her now dry eyes to him. "When you told me the first time that Valentine was your father, I didn't believe it," she said sadly. "Not just because I didn't want it to be true, but because you weren't anything like him. I've never thought you were anything like him." And Jace met her emerald eyes with an unfounded shimmer of hope. But it was dashed in her next words. "But you are," she breathed. "You _are."_ Turning away, she pulled open the door and then let it shut softly behind her.

 _To love is to destroy._

And then whatever cords—whatever willpower—that had been keeping Jace standing, snapped. He stumbled backward, the fight going out of him as he slammed into the wall and slumped against it gratefully and buried his face in his hands. He could feel the terror and horror at what he had done consuming him, but he could also feel the small bit of relief at knowing that he had saved her after all. _At what cost, though?_ He could feel his lower lip trembling threateningly—how long had it been since he cried? He didn't deserve to cry. _He_ had broken _her._ He didn't deserve comfort or compassion. He deserved only hate and contempt. He didn't get to cry.

"Jace." It was Alec. "Do you really think—"

Sighing, Jace pushed his hair back out of his face and looked up at his brother and sister with dry dead eyes. Clary had said he was just like Valentine—like his father. "Get out," he said numbly, staring past Alec and Isabelle at the door that Clary had left through. "Just get out. Both of you."

"So you can do what?" Isabelle snapped, taking a step to stand in front of Jace. "Wreck your life some more?" She whirled to look at the door, too, and then spun back to Jace, throwing her hands in the air. "What the hell was that _about?"_

He knew what Izzy meant by her question. And he thought about what she had said when they had been sitting watch over the vampire. _'We see your pain, Jace—we feel it—'_ He didn't deserve anyone. In the end, he only shook his head. "I sent her home. It was the best thing for her."

"You did a hell of a lot more than send her home," Izzy disagreed vehemently. "You _destroyed_ her." Jace flinched painfully. _Don't you think I know that?_ But Isabelle only sighed, her next words only marginally softer. "Did you see her face?"

 _Yes—it was my punishment and—_ "It was worth it," Jace said through gritted teeth, trying hard to believe it himself. He would bear this punishment because . . . he looked back and forth between Alec and Iz and bit the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. "You wouldn't understand."

But Isabelle didn't look all that convinced. Crossing her arms, she shared some sort of silent conversation with Alec before turning back to Jace with a grim pout tugging at her full lips. "For _her_ maybe," she said tightly. "I hope it winds up worth it for _you."_

 _We see your pain, we feel it . . ._ "Just . . . leave me alone Isabelle. Please." He dropped his head silently, staring at his boots, just as Alec spoke.

"Never mind, Jace," he was saying softly, and Jace looked up at his brother curiously. He was talking to Isabelle with a certain amount of affection and comfort, squeezing her shoulder lightly. "I'm sure she'll be fine."

Jace thought of Clary's face and how shattered it had been. How everything in her posture had screamed that he had broken her. She had said he was like Valentine, and she hated Valentine. "No she wont." Jace breathed painfully, the air hitching in his throat as he thought of that last look she had given him. "But I knew that." And then he sighed and pushed his palms into his eyes until he saw bursts of white. "Speaking of which," Jace switched tracks, though he could still see Clary's pain-stricken face. He needed a distraction. "You might as well tell me what you came in here to tell me. You seemed to think it was pretty important at the time."

Alec sighed, and lowered his hand from his sister's shoulder. "I didn't want to tell you in front of Clary—"

"Didn't want to tell me _what_ in front of Clary?" Jace's heart began to hammer again as he finally focused on his _parabatai._

But now that he had Jace's full attention, Alec didn't seem to want it. He only stood there, staring at his brother, and Jace could feel his impatience growing. _Talk or get the fuck out._ As if hearing Jace's thoughts, Alec started chewing on his thumb nail nervously before finally stammering out, "Yesterday when I brought Simon up to the Gard, Malachi told me that Magnus Bane would be meeting Simon at the other end of the Portal, in New York. So I sent a fire-message to Magnus." Alec took a breath as Jace raised a brow— he already didn't like where this was going. "I heard back from him this morning," Alec exhaled. "He never met Simon in New York. In fact, he says there's been no Portal activity in New York since Clary came through."

Jace's face whitened. Simon had never been sent back to New York? What did that mean—that he was still here? Where would he be?! And then there was the fact that the warlock had mentioned Clary's little Portaling adventure. _Knew about that too, did you?_ Jace thought bitterly. But then, of course Magnus knew. He was probably the one that told her all about how Jace had made sure they left without her, too—the pretentiously clinquant porcupine.

But it was Isabelle who spoke after casting a glance at Jace. He wondered idly what she saw. Did she still think him the same brother as he had always been, now that she had seen him treat Clary—he cut off the thought. "Maybe Malachi was wrong," she suggested cautiously. "Maybe someone else met Simon on the other side. And Magnus could be wrong about the Portal activity—"

Alec shook his head, looking slightly annoyed at the suggestion of Magnus being wrong. "I went up to the Gard this morning with Mom. I meant to ask Malachi about it myself, but when I saw him—I can't say why—I ducked behind a corner. I couldn't face him. Then I heard him talking to one of the guards. Telling them to go bring the vampire upstairs because the Inquisitor wanted to speak to him again."

 _FUCK._

 _Could nothing ever fucking go right? Just this once!_ Jace could feel the rage building back up in his body just as Isabelle spoke. "Are you sure they meant Simon?" she asked, and Jace rolled his eyes. _No, they meant that_ other _vampire that came to Alicante illegally._ "Maybe . . ."

"They were talking about how stupid the Downworlder had been to believe they'd just send him back to New York without questioning him," Alec continued flatly, crushing whatever hope Izzy had been holding out for. "One of them said that he couldn't believe anyone had the gall to try to sneak him into Alicante to begin with. And—" Alec hesitated here, and Jace turned to see him staring at him. _Just spit it out._ Alec's lips tightened as he continued. "And Malachi said, 'Well what do you expect from Valentine's son?'"

Jace bit down hard and tasted blood, his hands clenched tightly at his sides, as Izzy took a sharp breath. "Oh," she breathed worriedly. "Oh my God. Jace . . ."

He could feel both of their eyes on him now, but he ignored it. His body was shaking. He had fucked up. He had fucked everything up. And no matter how much he tried to fix it . . . he only made it worse. No one would ever trust him—not with who he was, who his father was—out for the world to know. And Simon . . . the kid had gotten caught up in the middle of it. But Simon didn't—he was—he kinda thought—it wasn't like— _the stupid vampire didn't deserve this!_ This was all on Jace. _Mea máxima culpa._ "If it hadn't been me who brought him through," Jace said in a low voice, trying hard to keep it from shaking. "Maybe they would have just let him go home. Maybe they would have believed—"

"No," Alec cut him off sternly. "No, Jace. It's not your fault. You saved his life."

Jace nearly laughed bitterly, but he didn't even have _that_ in him. He felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on him. "Saved him so the Clave could torture him." He sighed with defeat. "Some favor. When Clary finds out . . . " he trailed off, his pulse jack hammering in his veins and the fear returning to the take up space in his abdomen. _Oh, dear God._ When she found out, she would hate him. Hate him more than she already possibly does, because this—this would seal it more firmly than he had ever wanted to. He looked up in terror at his brother, his head shaking. "She'll think I brought him here on purpose—" _She thinks I'm like Valentine._ "—gave him to the Clave knowing what they'd do."

Alec shook his head softly, his dark blue eyes kind. "She won't think that. You'd have no reason to do a thing like that."

"Perhaps," Jace agreed, knowing it was a lie. She _would_ blame him. And then he saw those shattered emerald eyes that had looked at him like he was a stranger. "But after how I just treated her . . ."

"No one could ever think you'd do that, Jace." Isabelle said, attempting to be reassuring and failing. "No one who knows you. No one—"

Jace pushed himself up off the wall numbly and strode across the room toward the large window and stared out of it. Would he catch a glimpse of Clary running from the house, he wondered. It was probably too late for that. She hated him, and she would hate him more when she found out about Simon. Because no matter what anyone said . . . it was his fault. He had been rash about chasing after Clary when he first met her, and careless in letting her get too close. He had not thought of anyone else in his pursuit of being with her, loving her, and protecting her. And now . . . everything that happened to her from here on out—everything that happens to Simon—it would all be his fault.

The sound of shattering glass and a stinging pain in his left hand pulled Jace from his thoughts. Blinking slowly, he looked at the new splintering hole in the window and then down at his hand, where shards of glass had embedded themselves in his knuckles and his blood dripped to the floor. He hadn't felt it, he realized. He couldn't feel anything but despair.

"Oh Jace," Isabelle breathed from behind him. "How on earth are we going to explain this to the Penhallows?"

 **#######**

Alec forced himself to close the door of his and Jace's shared attic room softly. He was trying so hard to keep from yelling at his best friend right now, after what Jace had already just been through—but it wasn't easy. Sure, the last thing Jace needed right now was to be yelled at, but . . . _what the hell?_ He knew his brother was hurting—knew Jace hadn't meant any of the things he had said to Clary. Even Alec could tell that it had all been to make her leave. But still, he thought it had been a bit much—that Jace had pushed it too far. And the things he had said to her . . . Alec wondered if Jace realized how much a lot of it could be said about himself.

 _And what the hell happened on that boat?_

Turing, he looked at Jace and frowned. His brother was standing there staring morosely at the wall, though Alec knew he wasn't seeing the wall. "Sit," he said irritably, pointing at a nearby chair that sat near the only window. "I'll get the bandages."

Jace stared at him for a second and Alec wondered if he was refusing on purpose or if he truly hadn't heard him. He knew his _parabatai's_ thoughts were probably miles away with a redheaded tornado. But then Jace sat and Alec sighed and went to his bed. Dropping to his knees, he pulled out a small black duffle bag from underneath and began rummaging through it. After Jace had broken the window, Alec's immediate instinct was to pull out his stele. But after a moment of hesitation, he decided against it. He knew Jace well enough to know when he was punishing himself. And no matter how much Alec hated it when he did that, he also knew there wasn't anything he could say to make Jace stop. But there was a difference between hurting physically and hurting emotionally. Jace needed to learn that too. As he removed scissors, tweezers, gauze, and antiseptic, he heard Jace shifting behind him.

"Aren't you going to use a healing rune?" he heard Jace asked, though he didn't sound like he really cared one way or the other.

"No." Alec said tightly, getting to his feet with bandages in his hands. "You can just—" he broke himself off. There was no point in saying anything insulting to Jace. He would just agree right now anyway, and Alec wasn't going to join his stupid pity party. _"Shit,"_ he cursed under his breath, chucking the box on the bed with the rest of the supplies and then whirling toward the sink where he washed his hands none to gently—his frustration with his brother coming out with every scrub, every splash of water. When he was done, he practically slammed the faucet off and then, grabbing the supplies and another chair, he sat down across from Jace. "Give me your hand," he said curtly.

Jace gave him his hand. It was bad, but it wasn't worse than anything Alec had seen before. Each one of Jace's knuckles were split open, caked with dried blood and clinging glass shards that ran down to his fingertips. All the same, he glared up at Jace. "You're an idiot."

"Thanks." Jace said with attempted humor that did nothing to warm Alec's mood. Plucking up the tweezers, he went to work on the largest piece of glass still embedded in one of Jace's knuckles. As it moved grotesquely, creating a new trail of blood, Alec shook his head. _You're more than idiot, you idiot._ Alec just couldn't think of a more creative name at the moment. But he wasn't being gentle, not that Jace seemed to notice.

"So why not?" Jace asked suddenly as if picking up a conversation that Alec didn't know they had been having. Pulling the sharp shard of glass free of Jace's hand, Alec set the bloodied window piece absently on a nearby end table.

"Why not what?" he asked distractedly, going back to Jace's knuckles.

"Why not use a healing rune? This isn't a demon injury."

Alec clenched his jaw, the tweezers prodding a little to deeply into his brothers skin. But Jace didn't move or pull his hand away. He endured it. He always endured it. And then he would cover it up with a nice _iratze_ and try to pretend it never happened. _Not this time,_ Alec thought. This wasn't something that would go away with a rune. What Jace had done to Clary . . . and whatever lie he had told everyone else— _told him_ . . . it wasn't a game. And it wasn't okay. Jace needed to realize that. "Because," Alec said slowly, pulling another glass shard free and setting it—dripping with blood—next to the other one. And then he reached back and grabbed the antiseptic. "I think it would do you good to feel the pain. You can heal like a mundane. Slow and ugly." Alec shook his head. "Maybe you'll learn something." Grabbing the gauze, he was about to pour some of the antiseptic onto it so he could begin cleaning Jace's cuts, but thought better of it. Turning swiftly, he dumped the liquid over Jace's knuckles and heard the sharp intake of his brother's breath at the stinging pain. "Although I doubt it." Alec said with a sigh, setting the bottle down.

"I can always do my own healing rune, you know." his parabatai said pointedly, and Alec knew that Jace was blatantly ignoring everything he had said. He wondered if his brother could ignore a swift kick to the—

Grabbing the bandages, Alec began to none-to-kindly wrap Jace's hand. "Only if you want me to tell the Penhallows what really happened to their window, instead of letting them think it was an accident." _Try me._ Having finished wrapping Jace's hand, Alec yanked the bandage into a tight knot, causing his brother to wince painfully. Alec sighed, staring down at Jace's newly bandaged hand. He was still holding it. A part of him felt bad and wished he could comfort Jace, and hated knowing that he couldn't. Alec also knew that he was partly to blame. He had promised Jace he would see the vampire through the Portal, and he hadn't. But still . . . "You know, if I'd thought you were going to do this to yourself, I would never have told you anything."

"Yes, you would have," Jace said flatly, his head cocking to the side as she stared at his hand inside Alec's. He didn't pull it away, Alec noticed. "I didn't realize my attack on the picture window would upset you quite so much."

Was that more attempted humor? Alec sighed and turned Jace's hand over gently in his. Bloody fingerprints spotted the white bandage where Alec had touched it, but it was otherwise a very clean wrap job. And then he took a breath. "It's just—" he cut himself off. How could he explain it without Jace getting upset? But then, he was already upset, wasn't he? "Why do you do these things to yourself?" he asked finally. "Not just what you did with the window, but the way you talked to Clary." Alec met Jace's eyes, a golden sunrise over a stormy ocean. "What are you punishing yourself for? You can't help how you feel."

"How do I feel?"

Alec swallowed nervously. Jace hadn't yelled his words, or even raised his voice. But he could hear the tenseness in his _parabatai's_ question. And he knew Jace well enough to know that if he didn't tread carefully Jace would slip away and go back to hiding behind humor and disinterest. Clary had already cracked him open more than Alec had ever seen—he didn't want to lose that. But then, he also wanted to be honest with Jace. He was tired of him and Jace pretending to not feel something that he knew they both did. All the same, he approached his next words with caution.

"I see the way you look at her, and you cant have her." Alec hedged carefully, looking up at Jace. His friend looked terrible—well, as much as Jace _could_ look terrible—which admittedly wasn't much. His eyes were rimmed with the dark evidence of insomnia; and what was more, Alec was surprised to realize just how thin Jace had become. His golden eyes were darker too, not their usual vibrantly bright honey color, but more like dark copper. Alec's heart hurt just looking at him. But then, he supposed they had more in common now. "Maybe you just never knew what it was like to want something you couldn't have before."

Jace stared at him intently, the only sign of his mood in the racing of the pulse in his neck. "What's between you and Magnus?"

The question caught Alec off guard, and sent his heart jumping and his pulse pounding in his ears. Dropping Jace's hand, Alec reared back, his head shaking. "I don't—there's nothing—"

But Jace was already cutting Alec off. "I'm not stupid," he said with a wave of his bandaged hand. "You went right to Magnus after you talked to Malachi, before you talked to me or to Isabelle or to anyone—"

"Because he was the only one who could answer my questions, that why," Alec blurted defensively—too defensively. But he didn't want Jace thinking—what would Jace think if he knew about— _how the fuck did this get turned around on me?!_ "There isn't anything between us," Alec insisted, staring at Jace. But Jace said nothing. It was then that Alec realized Jace hadn't asked him in an accusing manner, or like he was making fun of him. He was honestly curious. And now . . . his brother actually looked hurt by Alec's denial. But why would he be hurt by— _he knows._

The thought constricted his chest.

And then the seconds ticked by as Alec waited to feel awkward or weird. To his surprise, he felt none of these. He supposed he should have known that Jace would have figured it out. Everyone else had. Maybe on some level, he had already known that his friend knew. Alec sighed. How could he expect Jace to be honest with him when he couldn't even be honest with Jace? Taking a deep breath, Alec met his _parabatai's_ gaze. "Anymore," he exhaled. "There's nothing between us anymore. Okay?"

"I hope that's not because of me," Jace said softly, and Alec once again found himself rearing back into his wall of defense as his pulse raced furiously.

"What do you mean?"

And Jace sighed and leaned forward, taking Alec's hands in his. Alec tensed. "I know how you think you feel about me," he began shaking head, his golden blond locks falling into his eyes. "You don't, though. You just like me because I'm safe. There's no risk. And then you never have to try to have a real relationship."

Alec stared down at their hands, his heart breaking. That wasn't it—how could he even think or say— "I get it," he said, his voice like stretched wire. "First Clary, then your hand now me. To hell with you, Jace."

"You don't believe me?" Jace said, sounding genuinely surprised. And then he leaned back, throwing his hands up. "Fine," he snapped crossing his arms. "Go ahead. Kiss me right now."

And Alec froze, staring at Jace. He was pretty sure his heart had stopped, and yet all he could hear was his blood rushing thunderously through his veins. Did he actually mean it? Did Jace really want Alec to kiss him? Alec swallowed, his mouth going dry at the thought as he leaned forward ever so slightly. But then he stopped. How long had he had thought about doing this? How many times had he wondered how soft Jace's lips would feel against his. And how many nights had spent thinking of Jace's soft sunlit hair, and how it would feel between his fingers? And now, here was his opportunity to find all that out. And Jace . . . he didn't look like he would stop Alec if he actually went for it.

But then he thought of Magnus. Magnus's lips _were_ soft—his hair . . . different. But not in a bad way. Alec liked their spiky points. With Magnus, Alec's whole body felt alive in a way it had never felt with Jace.

Alec leaned back and the corner of Jace's lips quirked up. "Exactly," he said pointedly. "Despite my staggering good looks, you actually don't like me that way. And if you're blowing off Magnus, it's not because of me. It's because you're too scared to tell anyone who you really love. Love makes us liars." And then Jace sighed, running his hands through his hair, letting a sliver of emotion through. "The Seelie Queen told me that. So don't judge me for lying about how I feel. You do it too." Alec winced. He was right of course. How the fuck was he right?! But before he could ask, Jace got to his feet "And now I want you to do it again."

"What do you mean?" Alec asked slowly, still trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened. And he was heartbroken by it. The problem was, he didn't know if his heart break was over a love he never had, or a love that he didn't feel anymore.

"Lie for me," Jace said, moving across the room and taking his jacket off the wall. "It's sunset," he explained, pointing out the window as he moved toward it. "They'll start coming back from the Gard about now. I want you to tell everyone I'm not coming downstairs. Tell them I felt faint and tripped, and that's how the window got broken."

Swallowing, Alec looked up at Jace. He had his back to him and was working on opening the window. Alec wasn't even sure that window opened. But then with a pop, it pushed outward and Alec could feel the cool breeze of Idris air sweep in toward him. Biting down on his thumb nail, he stared at his brother. "Fine," he said finally. "If you tell me where you're really going."

"Up to the Gard," Jace said as he turned around and gave him a smile—that smile. The one that would have melted Alec's heart before. Even now he felt a slight jolt through his veins, though it wasn't as pronounced now. "I'm going to break Simon out of jail."

And then he was gone, leaving Alec to stare at the open window and wishing he hadn't asked.

* * *

 _ **Please Review!**_


	8. The Butterfly Effect

**~ Chapter Seven ~  
The Butterfly Effect  
**

Jace had swung himself out of the attic window and onto the trellis with ease; but instead of climbing down the three stories, he merely let go and dropped silently to the ground. The feel of the cool evening air rushing up around him was refreshing. Looking around, he saw no one—not that he was actually looking for anyone. Well, he might have been keeping his eye out for at least one. Which way _had_ Clary gone? Jace didn't really know who Luke would trust enough to take Clary too. _It doesn't matter; you cant go see her anyway,_ Jace reminded himself firmly. But he had wrecked her. _Destroyed_ her. And the _way_ she had looked at him—a painful jolt of guilt slammed into Jace and he bit the inside of his cheek hard. It was taking everything he had not to scour the streets for her; to ask every Shadowhunter he came across about Luke to see if he could figure out where they might be staying. Talking to her like that had killed him. And then after she had run out— _a_ _fter she called you Valentine._ Jace took a breath. But it had been for her own good! If only she could just realize that instead of being stubborn and bullheaded and . . . Jace could feel the anger rising up in him again. In the furthest reaches of his heart, he knew that it was what was best for her. If the Clave had gotten wind of her . . . _Not her_. All the same, knowing that Clary was hurting, and that he was the one who had caused it . . . he should have never screamed at her like that. And then to find out about Simon—Jace would be lying if he said it hadn't pushed him over a cliff into an ocean of angry self loathing and recklessness.

Moving up the cobblestone street, he walked with confident and focused despondency. Like he were merely out for a stroll and that any place he was, was exactly where he was meant to be. If he were back in New York, he would have either used a glamour or tried to keep to the shadows as much as possible. But this was Alicante—the city of Shadowhunters who could see past glamours and were trained to spot you creeping in the shadows with pinpoint accuracy. They were also not the least bit afraid to come kick your ass for creeping around, either. Jace remembered all to well when he was nine how he had decided to sneak out of the manor for the first time. It hadn't gone so well.

And it had been his dad who had caught him.

Jace had woken up three days later and unable to lay on his back.

Biting down on his cheek, he jerked the memory away. _Focus._

To move around unnoticed in Alicante, to remain unsuspicious, he would have to blend in by moving among them. At one time, that would have been incredibly easy for him. But now he wasn't just another Shadowhunter anymore. He was Valentine's Son. He got looks, of course; something he knew would be unavoidable. Shoving his hands in his pocket, he ignored it as best as he could. The whispers were harder to ignore. Luckily not everyone was brave enough to say something—though it still hurt on some level knowing _he_ was untrusted simply because of who his father was. It wasn't like he had any control over that. _Trust me, I wish I did._ The thought was a bitter one. And a desperate one.

Passing a row of shops on Flintlock Street, Jace glanced lazily at the window displays. Up ahead a couple of older Shadowhunters—well, older than Jace—came walking out of Diana's Arrow. They looked to be in their early twenties and both were about Jace's height. But that was where their similarities ended. One was more lanky, his dark hair pushed back to reveal dark brown eyes; while the other was blonde, broader in the shoulders. Definitely _parabatai._ And they were both staring unabashedly at Jace. _Ignore them._ Biting the inside of his cheek, Jace pushed himself past the two men. But he only made it two steps before he heard them whispering behind him.

"My mom says it's uncanny."

 _Keep walking._

"That's what I heard too. And that his sister looks just like their mom."

 _Ignore them._

"Yeah. My parents are just _thrilled_ to have a teenage Valentine and Jocelyn running around again."

 _Nope._

Jace's pulse slammed angrily through his limbs as he stopped abruptly, turning to face them and watching as they jumped and looked away from his forced eye contact. He grinned, knowing that it made him look more feral than appealing. "You know," he said lazily, his body tensed. "If you have something to say about me or my sister, common courtesy dictates that you should say it to our faces. But—as she's not here right now—I would be _more_ than happy to stand in for her."

The two boys looked at Jace nervously, the dark haired one taking a step back. But before either of them could speak, the door of Diana's Arrow shot open again and a tall woman with a tattoo of a koi fish on her cheekbone stepped out. It was Diana, the owner of the shop. She wasn't much older than the _parabatai's_ —not that that mattered. She had an undeniable presence about her that made the two of them jump underneath her glare as she passed her gaze between the three of them casually. If she could feel the tension between them, she didn't show it.

"Edward, Michael, don't you have somewhere you need to be?" She asked casually, though Jace could hear the tightness of her voice. Crossing her arms, she leaned back against the wall. Edward and Michael stared at her briefly, both of them looking like they wanted to say something, and both deciding better of it.

Reaching forward, the dark haired one—Jace didn't know if he was Edward or Michael—grabbed his friend and dragged him backward. "We're going now," he said, looking at Diana. And they did. Jace watched, biting down hard and tasting blood, as they turned and walked away. Their heads were pressed together—probably finishing their conversation about him and Clary. _Assholes._

"And _you,_ Valentine's son."

Jace slammed his guard up at her words, turning his gaze to Diana cautiously where his eyes lingered on the Koi tattoo. It wasn't uncommon for Shadowhunters to have ink tattoos along with their Marks. It just wasn't common either. But it looked good on her. A shimmering gold painting her dark skin and bringing out the amber flecks in her deep brown eyes.

"I will not have you starting fights outside my shop."

"I didn't start it." Jace found himself saying stubbornly, crossing his arms.

"Do you think that is what people will believe?" Diana asked, her head listing to the side. "You are Valentine's son. The people here are looking, watching, waiting, for you to prove that you are just like your father. And getting into a fight—whether it was someone else who started it or not—will only validate what they had already assumed about you."

 _They can shove their assumptions up their collective asses._ Chewing thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek, Jace stared at the woman he was sure he had never said more than two words to in the past. "And what about you?" he asked, his brow raising as he played with the bandage on his left hand. The blood was already seeping through. "What do _you_ assume about me?"

Diana sighed. "I assume that you will have a difficult path ahead of you, Jonathan Morgenstern—"

"It's Jace," he corrected. He hated when people used his real name.

But if his interruption upset her, Diana didn't show it. She only watched him with those big brown eyes of hers. She took a breath. "If you can't learn to accept who you are, no one else ever will," she said softly. "And you will always be at the mercy of those who can use it against you." When Jace said nothing, Diana pushed herself off the wall. "I wish you luck, Jace." She disappeared back inside her shop. But it wasn't until he was standing there in the dark, still staring at the small shop, that he finally shook his head. _How can I possibly accept who I am, when I don't want to_ be _who I am?_

The rest of the way to the Gard was uneventful. Now that the sun had set, it was easier to hide his face; though Jace still made sure to walk out in the open and with a purpose. All the same, he felt relief when the path began its upward slope, taking him away from the city—away from the stares and whispers. He couldn't stop thinking about what Diana had said. It had helped cool some of the fire that had been eating its way through his body since hurting Clary, but it hadn't diminished it. Not in the least. As the large wall that circled the Gard came into view, Jace stopped at one of the angel statues that admitted entrance. Lowering his head, he clasped his hands together as if in silent prayer. And without moving his head, he swept his eyes around the grounds. The path was surprisingly empty and Jace didn't waste a second hesitating.

Slipping silently to the side, Jace found cover in the low brush that ran along the stone wall protecting the Gard. When he reached the back, he jumped lightly, catching the top of the stone wall and pulling himself up easily. Anyone else would have had to get a running jump to do what he had just done—a feat Jace would have once thrived on. He used to love being able to do things other couldn't—relished it, even. But learning that it was only because you were some unknown experiment really tended to take the fun out of it. Biting his cheek, Jace pushed the thought away and glanced down at the ground below him, searching for a sign of movement. All was clear. This seemed too easy almost. But then, the Clave was constantly so full of itself, the idea of a seventeen year old teenager trying to break out a Downworlder probably never even occurred to them.

Dropping to the ground, Jace's adrenaline spiked up as he moved quickly into the shadow of the building. He knew the jails were back here somewhere, though he had never seen them himself. He stared up at the windows above him—unsure of what he was looking for. A set of bars maybe? Something that indicated it was a jail cell. But he only saw windows. Running his hand along the brick, getting the feel of the dips in the grooves under his fingertips, Jace chewed at his cheek. He would just have to climb the wall and start peeking through windows. Because that wasn't creepy or dangerous at all. But he also knew it would be worse if he didn't. He had to find Simon. He had to get him out. Who knew what would happen to the vampire, otherwise. And what would happen when Clary found out. Jace fitted his foot against the side of the stone building, his hands searching the grooves he had become familiar with.

With a burst of adrenaline, he had just started to pull himself up when his eyes caught something moving along the grass. It was a dark shadow . . . not a person but—Jace frowned. He wasn't sure what it was that he had seen. But it was enough to get his interest. Dropping back down and crouching as he made his way toward the shadow he had seen, he instead found himself looking at a row of bars set low into the wall. Very low. Jace would have to get on his hands and knees just to see through them. But—these were like . . . dungeon cell bars. Old wrought iron. They couldn't have possibly put Simon in one of these. And yet, Jace knew, even as he thought it, that they could have. And they would have. To the Clave, Simon was a Downworlder, nothing more. The thought angered Jace as he dropped to his knees and pulled out his witchlight. The bars were cut with runes of binding and strength and unbreakability. Unsurprising, given it was an old jail cell, but when his gaze slipped past the bars to the inside of the cell, his stomach turned. It was dirty and foul. Jace coughed just from the smell coming from it alone. _For the love of the Angel._ The vampire had only been gone a day! One! What had the Clave done to him in _one_ day that it was already this bad? And then his eyes fell on a nearby bed where a human shaped pile of rags laid. Jace's heart lurched.

"Simon," he whispered, setting the witchlight down in the grass and gripping the bars with both hands. "Simon, wake up!"

"Wha—" The pile shot up and then gave a shout of horror. _O_ _h shit, not Simon. Not Simon._ It was someone else—someone older. Definitely a Shadowhunter, judging by the state of his hands. And definitely a prisoner. What Jace had thought were rags, was actually an incredibly old cloak made of different pieces of fabric. And while the hood was covering the prisoner's eyes as he shot up, Jace could see that the man had a very long, dirty, and scraggly beard. The man gave another horrified yelp and fell out of bed. Jace winced painfully—it looked like it hurt—as he watched him land on the rock and dirt strewn floor with a hard thud. But if the man felt any pain on landing, he didn't show it as he backed away quickly to the farthest corner of the cell from the window. Away from Jace, like he thought Jace was going to attack him at any second. _Calm down, crazy. I'm not here for you._

Jace raised a bewildered brow. "I'm looking for . . . my friend."

With his back against the wall, his ragged body in shadows, the man jumped at Jace's words. And when he finally spoke, his voice was as rough as sandpaper. But there was something else. A hint of amusement maybe? "Friend, huh?" he asked. "And what kind of Shadowhunter must you be that you would come here looking for a Downworlder criminal in the middle of the night?"

 _You have no idea._ "The exceptionally foolish and exceptionally dashing kind." Jace grinned. "It's a problem, I know. I'd start a support group, but I don't think I'd get much help talking to myself."

At that the man gave a gruff breath of laughter, and Jace hesitated. It was almost familiar. "Next window." The prisoner jerked a thumb toward the wall, and Jace forgot all about it.

Thanking him, Jace moved to the next low set of bars and grimaced. The bars here weren't cut with the runes that the previous set had. These had something more. Runes of religion—the Star of David, the Seal of Solomon. In fact, a good majority of the runes were Jewish in origin. So this was how they had kept Simon in. Jace had been wondering that. Shaking his head, he held out his witchlight and peered past the bars. This cell was dirty as well, but at least it didn't have the stink of it's neighbor. And lying asleep on a cot pressed against the wall, was Simon. He looked paler under the witchlight, but otherwise unhurt. _Thank God. Let's try this again._

 _"Simon,"_ Jace called out softly. But Simon didn't move. Was he dead? Well . . . deader? Jace shook his head, calling out the vampires name again, his voice hissing it louder than before. _Wake the fuck up already!_ "Simon, _get up."_

With a blur of movement, the vampire was on his feet, his eyes wide as he whirled around toward the cell door and then toward the wall he shared with the older man. "Samuel?" he called out quietly. Jace guessed that Samuel must be neighbors name. _How nice, you're making friends._ Simon spun again. "Samuel, was that you?"

 _Oh for the love of—_ did he really not see the witchlight burning through the bars? "Turn around, Simon," Jace said flatly. "And come to the window." And Simon turned slowly, his face becoming bathed in the witchlight as he looked up at the bars, his eyes finding Jace's. The vampire looked both irritated and nervous. "What," Jace asked with a bored drawl. "Did you think you were having a nightmare?"

Simon stared at Jace almost as if he didn't recognize him. "Maybe I still am." And then he blinked and took a step toward the window.

"So here's where they put you," Jace said lightly, looking at the rune cut bars. He felt anything but light, however. He felt on edge. He felt angry. And now that he was looking at the vampire, staring up at him from a stone dungeon cell, Jace couldn't shove down his overburdening sense of guilt. "I didn't even know they still used these cells." _And apparently for more than just Downworlders._ Jace sliced his eyes at the set of bars next to Simon's. But he didn't let his suspicion show—only bland amusement. "I got the wrong window at first," he said casually. What was the Clave doing jailing Shadowhunters like that? But then—hadn't they jailed _him_ up like that as well? _Guess I can't really be that surprised._ He glanced back at Simon. "Gave your friend in the next cell something of a shock." And then the corner of his lips quirked up. "Attractive fellow, what with the beard and the rags. Kind of reminds me of the street folk back home." So did the smell.

Simon took an unnecessary shuddering breath, his fangs popping out. Jace inhaled. The vampire was mad at him—and Jace knew that Simon had every right. He wouldn't be sitting in a stone cell had Jace not dragged him through the damn Portal. Jace knew he had been trying to do nothing more than save the vampire—trying to save Clary from the heartbreak of losing Simon. What he didn't think about at the time was who he was or how others would take seeing the son of Valentine bringing a Downworlder illegally through a Clave approved Portal into Alicante. And he should have. But that's why he was here. He wanted to make it up to Simon as much as he wanted to make it up to Clary. Well, Clary more-so, but he figured that that went without saying.

But Simon only continued to glare at Jace angrily. "I'm glad you think all this is funny."

Jace raised a defiant brow. _Oh, I could be much funnier than that._ "You're not happy to see me, then?" he asked mockingly, his brows pushing up toward his hair-line as he turned his head to study the brick that the bars were set in. How old was the stone? How strong? The vampire couldn't touch the bars, but if _he_ could rip the bars away from the building . . . "I have to say, I'm surprised." Jace continued, reaching out and touching a chipped piece of wall with his bandaged hand. "I've always been told my presence brightened up any room." And then he cut his eyes to Simon. "One might think that went doubly for dank underground cells."

But Simon only crossed his arms. "You knew this would happen, didn't you." It wasn't a question, and Jace sighed, staring down at the grass as the guilt slammed into him again. _I didn't know. I swear I didn't._ But he said nothing as the vampire continued, his fangs still out and flashing dangerously in the glow of the witchlight. "'They'll send you back right back to New York,' you said. No problem. But they never had any intention of doing that."

Jace captured the vampires gaze, holding it steady. "I didn't know," he said earnestly. _But I should have. I should have expected it._ And then he bit down as the vampire's expression became doubtful. "I know you wont believe me, but—" Jace shook his head, raking frustrated fingers through his hair. "I thought I was telling you the truth."

"You're either lying or your stupid—"

"Then I'm stupid." Jace spoke without hesitation, his eyes refusing to let go of Simon's.

"—or both," Simon snapped, his eyes narrowing.

 _Nope, I promise . . . I'm just an idiot. More than you even know._ It was probably the most honest Jace had ever been with the vampire when it came to himself. But Jace owed it to him after what he had gotten Simon into. He owed it to Clary after how he had treated her. And then Jace found himself biting his cheek as he wondered what Simon would think of how he had treated Clary. But then, he already knew didn't he? The vampire would want to kill him. The real question was—would Jace stop him? Jace took a breath. "I don't have a reason to lie to you. Not now," he said pointedly, his golden gaze still holding onto Simon's brown one as he thought of Clary and how she had come to Alicante despite his pleading. How Simon was in jail because Jace had gone to him for help back in New York. The Butterfly Effect. "And quit baring your fangs at me," Jace snapped when Simon said nothing. "It's making me nervous."

"Good," Simon spit back irritably, though Jace noticed that his shoulders had relaxed a fraction. "If you want to know why, it's because you smell like blood."

Oh. Jace stared down at his hands, the bandage on his left hand blooming with spots of red. _Oh._ "It's my cologne," he said as way of explanation, raising his hand to show Simon the bandage. "Eau de Recent Injury."

At this, Simon frowned his anger completely slipping away in that moment. "I thought your kind didn't get injuries. Not ones that lasted."

 _Aw, don't tell me your concerned, rat boy._ "I put it through a window," Jace shrugged honestly, picking at the bandage. "And Alec is making me heal like a mundane to teach me a lesson." And then he looked back up at the vampire. "There, I told you the truth. Impressed?"

"No," Simon said flatly, beginning to pace the small confines of his cell. "I have bigger problems than you. The Inquisitor keeps asking me questions I can't answer." And then he stopped and met Jace's eyes urgently. "He keeps accusing me of getting my Daylighter powers from Valentine. Of being a spy for him."

Jace's adrenaline jumped, his heart lurching with panic in his chest. _Son of a bitch._ "Aldertree said that?"

Simon looked at him, his eyes steady and deadly serious. "He implied the whole Clave thought so."

Jace bit the inside of his cheek. _Shit._ He pushed his hands through his hair. _Shit!_ And then Jace thought about the ship; Simon on top of him, his teeth in his neck . . . his blood changing the vampire, though neither of them knew it at the time. _Not Valentine's doing,_ Jace thought blandly. _But Valentine's son. All me._ Not that he thought Aldertree should know that.

"That's bad," Jace finally said, his voice tight. If the Clave thought that Simon was a spy for Valentine . . . it was only because Valentine's son had brought him. It was Jace's fault. And if the Clave ended up ruling him to be a spy— _This is bad . . . this is really . . ._ Jace looked at Simon through the cells. "If they decide you're a spy, then the Accords don't apply." Jace shook his head. "Not if they can convince themselves you've broken the Law." _No._ He wasn't going to allow another person to get hurt because of him. Not for him. Glancing out into the night, Jace checked each side of him for movement—for any sign that someone might be coming. His Audio rune and Nyx rune picking up on everything from the grass blowing lazily to the leaves in the distance rustling softly in the trees. But nothing human. _Right,_ Jace thought, glancing back down at Simon. "We'd better get you out of here."

"And then what?" Simon asked as Jace repositioned himself into a sitting position, placing his feet up against the wall on each side of cell window and setting his witchlight in the grass. His black boots were stark against the faded brick building. "Where do you plan on hiding me?"

Reaching forward, Jace wrapped his hands around the cool metal of the bars. He gave a light tug to see if there was any give. There wasn't. "There's a Portal here in the Gard," Jace said, using the bars to help scoot himself closer toward the building, his knees bending. He would need the leverage. "If we can find it, I can send you back through—"

"And every one will know you helped me." Simon was at the window now, though he was careful not to get too close to the bars. And Jace could see the shadows under his eyes that had nothing to do with the darkness. His face was pale, but his expression was determined. "Jace," the vampire continued, swallowing hard. "It's not just me the Clave is after. In fact, I doubt they care about one Downworlder at all one was or the other. They're trying to prove something abut your family—about the Lightwoods." Jace, who had been testing the strength of the bars again, froze. Simon shook his head. "They're trying to prove that they're connected with Valentine somehow. That they never really left the Circle."

Jace's body flushed with anger as he bit down on the inside of his cheek. How could they do that? How could the Clave possibly think . . . Jace shook his head. "But that's ridiculous," he breathed. _It was more than ridiculous,_ Jace thought irritably. _It's fucking bullshit._ "They fought Valentine—" Jace insisted more to himself than to the vampire. He could feel the panic blooming across his chest. "—on the ship—Robert nearly died—"

The vampire took a breath, his eyes showing pity. And Jace had to work hard to keep himself from snapping at Simon for it. He didn't want, nor care for, any kind of pity. But he kept his mouth shut as the vampire spoke. "The Inquisitor wants to believe that they sacrificed the other Nephilim who fought on the boat to preserve the illusion that they were against Valentine. But they still lost the Mortal Sword, and that's what he cares about." Jace could feel the color draining from his face at Simon's words. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be— "Look," Simon continued softly. "Look, you tried to warn the Clave, and they didn't care. Now the Inquisitor is looking for someone to blame everything on. If he can brand your family as traitors, then no one will blame the Clave for what happened, and he'll be able to make whatever policies he wants to without opposition."

Jace leaned back, dropping his hands from the bars as the fight went out of him. _No matter what I do . . . it will never be right._ He dropped his head in his hands, his breathing haggard. And he knew, without knowing how, what Simon was trying to get at. Pushing his hands up, Jace dug his palms into his eyes as his fingers curled into his hair. Clary would kill him. She already hated him. _No._ "But I can't just leave you here." Jace breathed with frustration as burst of white began to form under the pressure of his palms. "If Clary finds out—"

"I should have known that's what you were worried about," Simon said giving a harsh laugh. But Jace didn't look up, because he knew that what the vampire said was true. And denying it would be pointless, because Jace knew that Simon knew it was true, too. "So don't tell her." Jace heard Simon breathe. _It's not that simple._ "She's in New York." _No, she's not._ "Thank—" _God._ Jace finished the sentence silently when Simon choked off on the word. _I think you should hold off on that thanks, at the moment._ Jace rubbed his eyes harder to the point of it hurting, when Simon spoke again. "You were right," he breathed. It sounded like it was painful for the vampire to say. It probably was. It was surprising to hear, that was for sure. "I'm glad she's not here."

Okay, now Jace knew he hadn't heard right. Lowering his hands, he looked at the vampire steadily through the bars. "What?"

But Simon only shrugged his confession away. "The Clave is insane," he said, and Jace could hear the vehemence in the vampire's tone. "Who knows what they'd do to her if they knew what she could do." Simon took a breath. "You were right." And then his eyes narrowed. "And you might as well enjoy that I said that to you. I probably wont ever say it again."

But Jace wasn't enjoying the vampire's admittance. In fact, for some reason, it was the last thing he wanted to hear. Maybe it was because Jace knew how badly he had failed. And now, seeing the look of determination of Simon's face he knew he couldn't tell him the truth. The vampire would flip out. _Why are you so determined?_ Jace wanted to scream at him. _You hate me! Why would you care what happened to my family—to the Lightwoods?_ But Jace knew the answer even as he thought the question. _Clary._ And Jace sighed. This was all going wrong. But he would fix it. _I_ have _to fix it . . . somehow._ And it would have to start with telling Clary the truth first, he realized with his stomach dropping miserably. If she was still here, that was. And if she would even be willing to talk to him. Biting the inside of his cheek, Jace took a steadying breath. "So you're telling me you plan to stay in here? In prison?" he asked. He still didn't like it. At all. And Clary, of course, wouldn't like it either. But Jace still wouldn't hide it from her—especially if Simon was insisting on staying. He had already hurt her enough with what he had said to her back at the Penhallows—his heart twisted painfully in his chest. She probably already hated him past the point of forgiveness, but he would not make it worse by keeping this from her. "Until when?" Jace asked, knowing it was something Clary would want to know.

"Until we think of a better idea." Simon said, stepping back away from the window. "But there is one thing."

 _Anything._ Jace bit down, raising a brow. "What that?"

"Blood," Simon said matter of fact, his fangs snapping out just on the word. He shook his head. "The Inquisitor's trying to starve me into talking. I already feel pretty weak. But tomorrow I'll be—" The vampire cut himself off, sounding angry at himself for even having to admit this—something Jace could empathize with. Admitting to needing something—needing help—was never easy. "Well," Simon exhaled slowly. "I don't know how I'll be. But I don't want to five in to him. And I _won't_ drink your blood again," he added, casting a defiant glare at Jace, who quirked a brow. "Or anyone else's. Animal blood will do."

Jace thought of about fifty retorts he could give; gloriously witty retorts. But he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Not when the vampire was being so honest and open with him. Not when Simon was willing to sit in prison rather than hand over Jace's family. Jace took a deep breath, feeling as it expanded his chest. It hurt. It hurt him to his very core. He knew that Simon loved Clary, but that Clary saw him as her brother—her family. And on some level, maybe the vampire knew that. Accepted it. And then Jace exhaled. "Blood I can get you," he said, bounding to his feet but crouching low so that he could still see Simon through the bars. And then he hesitated, not sure how to ask this next question. "Did you—" Jace bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head, "—tell the Inquisitor that I let you drink my blood? That I saved you?"

Slowly, very slowly, Simon shook his head. His eyes bright in the moonlight and the glow of the witchstone still sitting among the grass. And Jace let out a breath, his voice tight. "Why not?"

But Simon only shrugged. "I suppose I didn't want to get you into anymore trouble."

Jace stomach flipped, his heart pulsing. "Look vampire," he began. If what Simon said was true, and Jace had no reason not to believe him, then the Clave thought that the Daylighter was a product of Jace's father—of Valentine. But he wasn't. He was a product of whatever it was that Valentine had done to his son. And while Jace didn't want the Clave knowing about Clary—he would do anything to keep her secret—he would _not_ allow anyone to get hurt in order to keep his. "Protect the Lightwoods if you can. But don't protect me."

Simon met his eyes. "Why not?"

"I suppose," Jace said softly, deciding to be incredibly honest as he stared down at the vampire, "because I don't deserve it." And Simon said nothing. Maybe there was something in his face or eyes that had silenced the vampire, Jace thought as they continued to stare at each other. _Whelp, this awkward bromance is fun and all_ —Jace straightened up. "Can you make it through the night, or do you need blood before then?" he called down quietly to the bars

A second later, Simon's voice drifted up toward him "I can hold out tonight, I think. But the sooner the better."

.

.

Later that night, long after everyone had gone to bed, Jace sat in his attic room and filled in Alec and Isabelle on what had happened. It was had been well after dark when he had gotten back to the Penhallows, and the light coming from the witchstone powered lamps were glowing dully, casting them all in shadows. Isabelle was laying on Alec's bed, her dark hair fanned around her, and Alec was sitting at her feet, his boots planted firmly on the ground as he listened to his parabatai. He didn't seem upset or awkward— which Jace took as a good sign, given the conversation they had had right before he jumped out the window—only attentive and alert. Jace told them about the underground cell and how Simon had decided to stay locked up, what the Inquisitor was trying to make him do, and how he was going to need blood. He left out what had happened on his trip to the Gard. He knew it would upset them.

When he finished, he stared at the two of them quietly, letting them take everything in. Alec didn't say much during this—he didn't even seem surprised. Izzy, on the other hand, had her arms crossed as she glared at Jace from Alec's pillow. "I don't like it." She said, pulling her hair out from under her and over her shoulder, twisting it in her hands.

"I don't either," Alec agreed. "But . . ." And then he shoved his hair back, taking a breath like he was getting ready to say something difficult. Alec exhaled. "I'm grateful that he's doing it." _Ah, that's why you hesitated._ Jace knew first hand how hard saying something nice about the vampire was. As if hearing Jace's thoughts, Alec rolled his eyes. "Look," he continued. "The vampire's right . . . if you had broken him out, the Clave would have immediately blamed us—especially if what the vampire says is true."

"I'm not saying your wrong," Jace said slowly. "But if they did that, then the Clave would have to explain how it was that Simon was there to break out in the first place—seeing as how they told everyone they were sending him back to New York."

"Yeah, I'd like to hear _that_ answer." Izzy said dangerously, staring up at the ceiling.

But Alec only grunted. "They'd have all claimed that Simon tried to escape or attempted to harm one of them." And then catching the stares from his siblings, he shrugged. "You know I'm right. They'd say that they had the Portal all ready to go when the vampire did something illegal, giving them full rights to detain him. And if asked why they didn't say anything about it, they'd just shrug it off with something like, _'Official Clave investigations and criminals is not something that we have to share with others—especially children.'_ I've been in the meetings. I've seen how they treat those younger."

Jace chewed thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek and ignored Alec's children remark. He knew that his brother was right, but he still didn't like it. Despite having described it, Jace knew that Alec hadn't seen how horrendous that underground cell was. And if the Clave's treatment of—what had the vampire called his neighbor? Samuel?—was anything to go off of, then it wasn't like they were going to treat Simon humanely. They were already trying to starve him as a way of torture in order to get him to talk. To lie. _Because I brought him here. Because I asked for his help with Clary . . . who fucking came anyway._

In a blurred motion, Jace was on his feet and pacing in front of the window he had climbed out of earlier. He could see Izzy and Alec reflected in the glass, but outside he could see the demon towers were burning brightly in the night sky, the stars twinkling merrily beyond it. And below, the lights glowed from street lamps and nearby houses. Jace could make out the dark canal that ran through the town. Was Clary somewhere out there or had he convinced her to go back to New York—granted 'convinced' might not be the right word. How badly did she hate him? He wondered, the thought a painful one. _If I had only left it alone_. But he had wanted to protect her. _Needed_ to protect her. He had wanted—Jace shook his head. How was he supposed to know that she was stubborn enough to find some impossible way to Idris anyway? _Only you, Clarissa Fray, he thought ruefully, could do something like create a fucking Portal to spite me!_ He almost laughed at that Because it was true. She really was the only person to ever get a rise out of him like this—to break through his cool indifference and humor in which he hid behind. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he had felt so angry and amused and panicked all at the same time—felt a rage that he was not able to control. He hadn't. Not even with his father.

And that wasn't to say that he hadn't felt one of the three at some point or another . . . just never at the same time like that. Not in a way that made him question his sanity. This was new. This was horrifyingly new to him.

And then he started laughing— _Great_ _, I've officially lost it_ —and turned away from the window to look at Iz and Alec. They were watching him tensely, like they thought he might flip out at any minute. He didn't think they had ever looked at him like that before, either—at least not before Clary. Because he was Jace. He was cool and calm and collected. He was beautiful and sarcastic. He wasn't some emotional wreck whose life was spiraling out of control. Jace marveled at the change in him—the change he knew Alec and Isabelle could see as well. He didn't like it. But he also knew that he would never give Clary up to have his old life back. This one may suck, but it would suck worse without her. Jace bit the inside of his cheek.

"I have to tell Clary."

And then he watched as Alec raised a brow and Isabelle sucked in a breath. But Jace didn't care. He had realized this back when he was talking to Simon. She had every right to know . . . and it seemed that Alec and Iz agreed.

"I'll tell her," Isabelle offered, kicking her legs off the bed and sitting up.

Jace shook his head. "No, it has to be me," he sighed, glancing back at Izzy. Her deep brown eyes were watching him, telling him that this was a bad idea. But then, she seemed to think _anything_ involving Clary was a bad ideas as of late. _You don't understand._ Jace kept his face expressionless. Clary was going to find out anyway and he didn't even want to imagine how angry she would be if it didn't come from him first.

"I've already hurt her—"

"She's not the only one hurting, Jace." Izzy interjected

Jace's heart skittered, his body bristling at her words, but he continued like she hadn't spoken. "—the least I can do is be the one to tell her. It's my fault the vampire is here in the first place—if I hadn't tried to stop her from coming—if I hadn't lied to keep her away—"

"So you never told her," Alec said, though Jace could tell he wasn't surprised. And he wondered if Alec had figured it out or if he had just always known. But then—they were _parabatai._ Of course Alec would have known. Izzy, on the other hand, had no clue.

"Never told her what?" she asked suspiciously, looking back and forth between her brothers. "What did you do?"

 _The damage is already done . . . might as well be honest._ Besides, Jace felt like he deserved to be yelled at. And then he sighed. "The time change for the Portal. I told Alec I would tell Clary about it . . . I didn't. But I also knew you guys would try to wait for her, so I asked Simon to come so I could try to talk him into lying to you guys. But then everything happened . . . I wasn't expecting the Forsaken to show up. I—" Jace cut himself off.

Isabelle's body tensed and Jace waited for the onslaught of anger. It didn't come. Instead, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she spoke, her tone was steady. "You. Are. An. Idiot." _So_ _I've been_ _told twice tonight already_ , Jace nearly laughed. Then Izzy looked up at him. "You tried to keep Clary in New York?" _Yes._ "The same Clary I know?" _The very one._ "The Clary who's been planning this trip since day one so that she could find that warlock to rescue her mother?" _. . . yes._ "The one that is more stubborn than the idiot standing in front of me?"

"I get it!" Jace snapped.

"Do you?" Izzy shot back.

Jace bit the inside of his cheek just as Alec tilted his head to the side, staring up at him thoughtfully. "Why don't you want her here? The truth, preferably." His blue eyes were shimmering under the warm glow of the room. "What happened on that boat?"

The seconds ticked by as Jace stared at them. He had tried so hard to keep it a secret. Had only wanted to keep Clary safe. But look at where it had gotten them. Taking a deep breath, Jace told them the truth about what had happened on Valentine's ship. About Clary and her rune ability; and about out how she had single handedly torn apart that boat. When he was done, no one spoke. Alec and Isabelle were floored—both of them staring at Jace with eyes the size of half-dollars. He tensed under their gaze. But they weren't looking at him like the Shadowhunters on the streets had. They were more concerned and awed.

"You shouldn't have hidden that from the Clave." Alec said after awhile.

"Of course he should have," Isabelle disagreed.

"No, he shouldn't have. And he shouldn't have kept it from Clary. It should have been her decision." Alec shook his head, his dark hair flopping into his eyes. "And it should have been her decision on whether she wanted to help the Clave. Think of what she could offer."

"I was." Jace's tone was flat but his eyes were blazing now. And Alec's eyes widened a fraction as Jace continued. "I was thinking of just exactly how the Clave would use her and how it wouldn't be her _'decision'_ at all." And then he shook his head. "I can't do that to her. What if it were Magnus?"

Alec swallowed, his face flushing at the same time that Isabelle's eyes went wide. "You know?" she asked Jace with surprise, before looking back at Alec. She actually sounded relieved. "Oh, thank the Angel. I was getting tired of pretending that—"

"Yes, we all know," Alec cut her off curtly with an eye roll, before looking back at Jace. "And the Clave already knows that Magnus can do magic."

"But what if they didn't?" Jace pressed. "What if what Magnus could do was so rare that it made the Clave want him? Want to use him as a weapon? You would want to protect him too."

"Except that me and Magnus aren't—"

"Not being together doesn't stop what you feel," Jace cut him off quietly. "It just makes it harder to do it."

Alec frowned but said nothing as he stared down at his boots. It was Izzy who spoke next. "I get where you're coming from, Jace—I do. But I can also see what Alec is trying to get at. You're were so worried that Clary would have her choice made for her, that you tried to make it for her before anyone else could."

 _I—that's not what I had—_ Jace's stomach plummeted miserably. He hadn't thought of it like that. All he knew was that he had wanted to protect her. Jace sighed with frustration at himself. Of _course_ she had come after what he had done! He would have done the same. "Have I ever told you," he glared at Isabelle, "that I hate when you're right?"

"Probably not," she grinned. "Because that would require you admitting you were wrong."

Jace quirked his lips up, but could think of nothing to say. _Just this once._ He turned his eyes back to Alec, who was getting to his feet and crossing the room toward him. Leaning against the window, Alec chewed silently on his thumb nail before saying, "Look, neither of us are going to say anything about Clary. You know that. But you need to figure out what you're going to do, cause we all know it wont be long before the Clave does finds out—especially if they're starving Simon. He might be a Daylighter, but he's still a vampire. He cant last long without blood."

"Leave that to me," Isabelle smiled, getting to her feet. "I'll keep him supplied. In the meantime," she continued, her eyes on Alec. "You need to figure out where Luke might have taken Clary to—if she's even still here." Something in her tone made Jace wonder if Isabelle was hoping that Clary had already left. And then there was the fact that she had spoken directly to Alec. Did she actually think that Jace wouldn't be helping to find her? Because Isabelle was right on one thing—if he was going to have a chance of speaking to Clary . . . he was going to have to figure out who Luke knew and trusted from his days as a Shadowhunter.

"I'm sure we can figure it out." Jace said, making sure to emphasize the word 'we'. "We can ask around the Accords Hall or the Gard."

"Because bringing up Lucian Graymark isn't be a big red flag," Alec said with a roll of his eyes.

But Izzy had frozen, her hand reaching for the doorknob. "You can't go, Jace." She said looking back at Jace. "And Alec, it's not going to be as big of a red flag as you think. Valentine's back, His wife is under a spell, and then there's Jace and Clary—the son everyone thought was dead and the daughter no one knew about."

"What's your point, Iz?" Alec asked at the same time that Jace, drawing his shoulders back, demanded to know what she meant by saying he couldn't go.

"My _point,"_ she took a breath, looking at Alec, though Jace could tell she had heard him as well, "is that it's all this city is talking about! And Luke, who was Valentine's _parabatai,_ is now back from the dead too. So if you don't think he's included in this mass gossip fest, big brother, then you are sadly mistaken." And then she turned on Jace. "And what I meant was, _you_ can't go."

 _What the fuck?_ Jace felt his pulse spike angrily. "Oh yes I can—"

"You're the son of Valentine," she cut him off, causing Jace to slam down on his emotions as he flinched back as thought she had slapped him. But he wasn't fast enough. She had seen his pain. And when she spoke again, her tone was softer. "Jace . . ."

"It's fine," he cut her off curtly. "I get it . . . the son of Valentine asking about his daddy's _parabatai . . ._ it might make people uncomfortable."

"Jace." It was Alec this time. "I'll find out what I can. I promise."

When Jace didn't say anything, Isabelle pulled open the door and then glanced over her shoulder at them. "You two try to get some sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow"

"No, _you_ have a busy day tomorrow," Jace retorted bitterly. "It would seem that I, on the other hand, have a big day of sitting around."

Shaking her head, Isabelle left, closing the door behind her softly, and Jace let out a breath. Turning to look at his brother, he could tell that Alec wanted to talk to him more, but Jace was exhausted from everything that had happened. And so Jace said nothing as he stepped past his _parabatai_ and threw himself onto his bed, huffing out air as he landed with a bounce. He couldn't help the nerves that were shooting through his veins, however. He might be seeing Clary again tomorrow. Even though the idea of seeing her so soon after he had yelled at her was a terrifying one, he would be lying if he said he wasn't somewhat excited by it.

It would be nearly dawn before he finally fell to sleep.

* * *

 _ **Please Review!**_


	9. Only For Her

**~ Chapter Eight ~  
Only For Her  
**

Jace wasn't asleep long before he opened his eyes to the morning sun streaming lazily in from the window. He was going to possibly see Clary today. His stomach lurched. Flopping his hand out, he began searching the nearby nightstand for his stele. He pressed it to his skin, outlining his routine of Runes—Strength, Nutrition, Energy, Endurance. He barely had to look when he Marked himself anymore; he had done them so many times in the last few weeks. Sitting up, he turned to look at Alec, who was still asleep. How early was it that he was up before his _parabatai?_ Rubbing at his eyes, Jace kicked his legs off the bed and sat up. Outside, the morning birds were chirping away a little too brightly for Jace's liking. But it wasn't exactly like he could kill them—Jace paused, thinking about it before shaking his head. Nope. _Definitely shouldn't kill them._ Granted, doing so might at least get the stupid city talking about something worth listening to. _Look! There goes Valentine's son! Vanquisher of nature's morning song._

But no, it probably wouldn't be something that interesting. They'd twist it and make it worse. Though, to be honest, Jace wasn't really sure how they would be able to take something like killing birds and make it worse than it already was. _Oh dear God, stop thinking about the birds._ And so he thought of Clary. _Because that's so much better._ Was she still in Idris or had she gone back to New York? Maybe Alec could send Magnus a fire message asking about recent Portal activity over there. And if she wasn't there . . . Jace swallowed.

He didn't feel angry anymore. Not at Clary, anyway. He should have expected everything that had happened; he had been too focused on what he wanted instead of seeing the precarious avalanche he was creating. Now that he had calmed down, he felt nauseous about the way he had treated her. _She must hate me . . ._ and if she did, the only person Jace could blame was himself. Biting the inside of his cheek, he was suddenly overcome with the desire to not be the only one awake anymore. The silence was pressing in on him—the guilt.

Kicking out a foot, Jace shook Alec's bed. His parabatai was lying on his stomach, both arms under his pillow, his breathing even. Alec never wore a shirt to bed, and the dark Marks twining from his shoulder blades up his arms almost looked like shadows in the morning glow. _Aaaand . . . you're not waking up._ Jace sighed and kicked his brother's bed again, harder.

"Wha—?"

"Wakey wakey. It's—" Jace paused. He had no clue what time it was. Snatching up his watch, he— _oh, ouch._ And then he stole a quick glance up at Alec, who peaked up a single piercing blue eye at him, and dragged the corner of his mouth down ruefully.

"If you tell me anytime before six, I will kill you."

Jace glanced down at the watch again, chewing thoughtfully on his cheek. And then he tossed it behind him, listening as it hit the wall with a clang. "The time's not important."

 _"YeahIbet,"_ Alec yawned into his pillow, his onyx hair falling into his eyes. "What do you want?"

"Nothing," Jace grinned. "I'm gonna take a shower."

Even with half of Alec's face pressed against the pillow, Jace could tell his brother was not amused. "You did _not_ wake me up just to tell me you were going to take a shower," he grumbled irritably, closing his eye tight; his lips had gone razor thin.

"You're right," Jace agreed. "I woke you up because I knew I couldn't be the only one up. I'm untrustworthy, you see. Valentine's son and all. You never know what devious shenanigans I might get into if I'm not being—"

He was cut off by a flying pillow.

Laughing, Jace flung the pillow back at Alec and got to his feet, snatching up some clothes before heading into the bathroom. Behind him, his _parabatai_ had stretched out his hand toward the nearby nightstand; deep in a fumbling search for his own watch. But it wasn't until after Jace had shut the bathroom door that he heard the string of death threats and curses coming from Alec. Jace chuckled.

And now, in the privacy of the bathroom, Jace looked at himself in the mirror. He wanted to say that he was surprised with what he saw there, but he wasn't. His face had gotten paler, thinner— _he_ was thinner. But he hadn't had much of an appetite. And then there were the dark smudges under his eyes giving away an unmistakable sign of his insomnia. No wonder Isabelle and Alec were worried about him. Sighing, Jace traced his eyes down to his chest. Like Alec, he didn't wear a shirt to bed—they were too hot—but maybe he should start. He was usually lean and muscular—gorgeous to behold even. Right now he looked lanky and sick. Though he supposed he still looked better than most people, so at least he had that going for him. And then Jace let out another dry laugh, void of any humor before turning on the shower and kicking out of his pajama pants. He had always been acutely aware of his looks—was always able to use them to his advantage. Plus he had just genuinely enjoyed pointing out his absurdly good looks. But now . . . he didn't care. How could he when the only person he _wanted_ to notice him . . . was the one person he shouldn't _want_ at all. At least not in the way he wanted her. Trying to shake the thought away, Jace got into the shower and let the hot water sluice down his body. He was _going_ to talk to her today. _One way or another,_ he decided.

Closing his eyes and turning his face up into the shower stream, Jace started to mentally prepare himself. _Clary is your sister._ His hands shot out against the wall and he dropped his head forward, letting the water drench the back of his head. _Clary is your sister._

 _Clary is your sister._

 _._

 _._

After getting out of the shower and dressing himself, Jace allowed his brother to re-bandage his hand before heading downstairs. Alec had then taken his turn in the shower, while Izzy was off doing whatever morning ritual it was that she did. If it didn't involve rolling out of bed and into the nearest article of clothing, then Jace didn't want to know. In the kitchen, he boiled some water and used the French press to make coffee. He had just started to pour himself a cup when Alec walked in, his black hair dripping with water. He was wearing his usual jeans and dark swear combo, the holes at the elbows of his sleeves letting a hint of skin peek through.

"Eat," Alec instructed just as Jace took a seat at the breakfast nook.

Jace did his best to look affronted. "What, no, _'Good Morning?'"_ he asked as he took a sip of his coffee.

"No," Alec said gruffly, pulling out his own mug from the cabinet and filling it with coffee. Turning, he leaned against the counter and stared at Jace, the mug pressed between his hands. "You lost _that_ the moment you woke me up at—"

"As I said before," Jace grinned, "the time was not important."

"Eat."

Jace countered by lifting his mug. "Some things will never compare to the moment when a perfect cup of coffee touches your soul."

"Uh huh." Alec rolled his eyes and opened fridge. "Here," he said absently, reaching back and sliding a bowl of cut up fruit at Jace. "It's something at least."

 _Fine, if it will shut you up._ Sighing overloud, Jace pinched a piece of mango between the fingers of his bandaged hand and popped it into his mouth, making a face at Alec in the process. "Happy?"

Alec said nothing as he went back to retrieve his cup of coffee. A second later, he was sitting next to Jace—who was quick to notice that Alec had not grabbed his own breakfast. _Hypocrite._

It was another hour before Isabelle showed up—with Sebastian on her arm.

She was talking to him about Simon, and where she could get blood. Jace's heart thrummed, his pulse shooting up as he hissed at her to be quiet. _The last thing I need is this ass knowing what's going on,_ he thought, glaring at the boy irritably. Jace still wasn't all that sure why he didn't like Sebastian. He just knew he didn't. Or maybe it was that he didn't trust him. But Isabelle simply waved Jace's protests away as if she were swatting at a bee.

"He's willingly been sworn to secrecy," Isabelle said with a huff. She was wearing a tight black pencil skirt and a turquoise bone corset, her dark hair hanging over her shoulders. Seeing Sebastian looking at his sister, Jace was overcome with a desire to tell her to put a sweater on—something he'd never done before. _And I'm not about to start._ He could only imagine Isabelle's colorful response if he even tried. Keeping his mouth shut, he listened as Izzy continued. "He want's to help. And quite frankly . . . we need to take allies we can, Jace."

At this, Jace cut a glance toward Alec, who was watching him silently. His brother was the only one who knew how Jace really felt about Sebastian. And he was being absolutely no help right now. _Traitor._

Alec merely shrugged, a grin playing on his lips and his eyes quite clearly saying, _'_ _you shouldn't have woken me up so early.'_

"Asshole," Jace tossed at Alec, and then watched unamused as his _parabatai_ snickered into his coffee cup while Isabelle sighed loudly at their antics, her eyes rolling. She was all too familiar with at their exchanges. Sebastian, on the other hand, just looked bewildered.

With a shake of his head, the Penhallow boy moved forward and met Jace's eyes earnestly. "Look—" _I wonder if they'd look as earnest if I poked one._ "—I don't think it's right—what they're doing to Simon. It's despicable."

"People still use the word _'despicable?'"_ Jace interjected incredulously.

And Izzy hissed, her heel'd toe tapping impatiently. _"Jace."_

 _What?_ Jace turned a lazy eye to her and shrugged. _But—_ "You don't even _know_ Simon," he said pointedly back at Sebastian, surprising himself with how protective it had come out. Jace didn't even like the stupid vampire. At least . . . he _used_ to not like him. The stupid mundane definitely had a way of getting under his skin. Like a leach. _Ha ha. Pun intended._ Blinking, Jace kept his voice light, bored, even. "Why would you want to help him?" he asked curiously, though his tone was flat. "You're a good little Shadowhunter—why throw your lot in with Valentine's son?"

 _"Jace."_ It was Alec this time, his voice both cautious and annoyed. But Sebastian waved him away.

"It's okay, Alec," he said lightly, before his black eyes met Jace's thoughtfully. "I get it— _nu-mi place de mine."_

 _"Nu am încredere în tine."_ Jace corrected steadily. _Nor do I trust the fact that you keep using a language you know the others don't understand._

Sebastian smiled. "Fair enough. I have some errands to run anyway." Behind him, Isabelle's eyes had gone wide with frustration, her lips thinning as she threw her hands up. Sebastian turned away and began walking toward the archway that led out of the kitchen.

"Jace," Alec said again, slowly this time as he set his mug down. He was watching Sebastian walk away. "He already knows. Maybe he can . . ."

Jace bit on the inside of his cheek. He really didn't want Sebastian there helping. As if hearing his thoughts Sebastian turned and shrugged nonplussed, still walking backwards. "Would it make you feel better if I swore on the Angel not to say anything about Simon?" The stunned silence around the room was not lost on the Penhallow cousin, and he smiled. "I swear on the Angel not to say anything." And with that, he swept regally from the room, leaving Jace, Alec, and Izzy to watch him go.

The rest of the morning was a whirlwind. None of them could actually do anything until Maryse, Robert, Jia, and Patrick were up and moving. The adults weren't at all surprised to see the teenagers awake before them—they were Shadowhunters. Waking early was just part of it. And then as the adults made to leave, Alec grabbed his jacket and made up some excuse about going to the Gard. Whether Maryse bought it or not, Jace didn't know. And he suspected that Alec didn't care. They all left together. Not long after that, Izzy, announcing that it was her turn, slipped out the door.

And then Jace was left alone.

He didn't like being alone.

Which was why he spent the rest of the day a wreck.

Jace tried reading, napping, training himself to the point of exhaustion—nothing worked. At one point he had even found himself immersed in some conversation with Aline, that he knew he would never remember. Isabelle was the first one to make it back. Neither of them were surprised by this. But after that, Jace spent a good majority of his day trying to avoid Isabelle. She was determined to talk to him about Clary and how he should present himself if she was still here. Apparently there was a whole slew of things a guy who fucked up royally with a girl was supposed to do to make it up to said girl. And Jace was pretty sure none of her suggestions were going to work. _You destroyed her._ Finally Jace had to snap at Izzy to leave him alone, because . . . _how did you fix something you destroyed?_ Jace shook his head. _You can't._

"Fine," she overly cheerful, ruffling Max's hair. They were back in the kitchen and the young Lightwood was sitting at the table reading one of his manga books, his glasses halfway down his nose. Out the windows, the sun was beginning to set giving Jace a sense of foreboding. Where was Alec? What could possibly be taking so long? Had he been found out? Surely that couldn't be it . . . they would have heard about it if he had. And he was sure they would try to twist it into being Jace's fault. All the same, the Clave might think they could hide a Downworlder . . . but a Shadowhunter was a little different. _"But,"_ Izzy continued suddenly, meeting Jace's eyes and worrying at her lower lip. "It's not just Clary I'm worried about."

Jace bit down on his cheek as Max poked his head up. "Why are you worried about Clary?" he asked with all the innocent curiosity of a nine year old boy.

Isabelle smiled at her kid brother. "No reason—want to help me make dinner?"

"No." Max also said with all the honesty of a horrified nine year old boy. "Why would I want to do _that?"_

"Well . . . why wouldn't you?" Isabelle laughed good-naturedly.

"Because he's smart?" Jace offered to a sneering Isabelle and dropping a wink at Max, who beamed. Turning back to Izzy, Jace shrugged before making his way toward the door. He was feeling antsy again. Maybe he could find a book to read or something. Isabelle didn't comment on Jace's departure but did call out behind him that he wasn't getting out of eating dinner. Maybe he could pretend to be sick. Or dead. Crossing the sitting room, he had only reached the stairs when he heard footsteps running up behind him.

"Jace!" It was Max, and Jace waited, leaning against the banister and watching as the boy came to a stop in front of him, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

"Something up, kiddo?" Jace asked.

"No." Max said. "But if you're worried about your sister making it home safely last night, you don't have to." he said, tilting his head to the side. "Just thought you should know. Because back in the kitchen, you seemed worried."

Jace felt his brows knitting together at the boy's words. Max seemed so sure of himself, but what could he possibly know that they didn't. His skin felt like it was crawling with a live wire. His pulse throbbing in his throat. "What do you mean, Max?" he asked as calmly as he could, his smile tight. His little brother knew something— _what on earth could you know?_

"Sebastian walked her home safely," the boy said as casually as if mentioning the weather. And yet those five words had the power to nearly drop Jace. He could feel his chest constricting, his whole body going tense as he chomped down on the tender flesh of his cheek. He tasted blood. But if his feelings showed, Max didn't notice them.

"How do you know this?" Jace asked as calmly as he could—which thankfully came out much calmer than he felt.

"He told me when he came back. Sebastian that is," his little brother shrugged innocently, his eyes huge behind his glasses as he looked up at Jace. "He said that we should never let someone who seemed upset walk home alone—something about chivalry." And then Max frowned as Jace envisioned about a hundred different ways to hurt Sebastian. "Jace?" he began tentatively. "Why was Clary upset when she left here?"

And Jace swallowed, trying hard to bite back on his anger toward Sebastian. Because it was more than just anger—it was jealousy. He hated the feeling of jealousy and how new it still felt to him, though it was not the first time he had felt it. _I knew I didn't like him,_ he thought vehemently. But when he looked at his little brother, he pushed it all down and forced a tired smile. "Because I wasn't very nice to her, kiddo." And then Jace looked at Max speculatively. Was it possible the stupid Penhallow cousin told him more? _It doesn't hurt to ask._ "Hey, did Sebastian say where she was staying? Because I _really_ need to apologize to her."

At this, Max smiled. "At the Herondale house."

Jace felt his adrenaline spike, his body eager to explode into action—to run from the house. But instead, he only pushed himself off the banister, taking Max by the shoulder. "Thanks, kiddo." Crossing the sitting room, he thought wildly of Maryse and stopped. If she knew that Clary was here . . . _She would want to talk to her._ Turning back to Max, Jace caught his kid brother's eyes. "Hey, would you mind keeping this between us?"

"Like a secret?" Max asked, beaming at Jace.

"Exactly like that," he nodded, relieved, before resuming his steps back toward the kitchen.

Isabelle was at the stove, stirring a pot of something with a wooden spoon. And Jace was glad he wouldn't be there for whatever it was. "I'm going for a walk," he announced, surprising himself as he crossed the room toward his jacket. At the time that he had asked Max to keep it a secret, it had been because he hadn't wanted Maryse knowing. But now, he suddenly didn't want _anyone_ knowing where he was going.

At his words, Isabelle spun around, sending whatever was on the spoon splattering in different directions as she did so, and looked at Jace with wide eyes. "But what about—" she cut herself off, her eyes darting to the door. When she spoke again, her voice was lower. "What about Clary?" She asked. "Alec will probably be back soon. Don't you want—"

"It's not going to be a long walk, Iz," Jace said, shrugging on his jacket. "I just need some air. I . . . I'm too wound up."

Isabelle frowned. "All right. But don't take too long, okay?"

Nodding, Jace all but bolted from the house.

Making his way up the cobblestone road, Jace kept his eyes and face forward. He didnt want to get distracted by the Shadowhunters who were pointing and staring again. Looking up, he caught sight of the gold and crimson sunset burning across the sky. It was gorgeous. It was one of the things he missed about Idris. As a chilly breeze swept toward him, Jace shoved his hands in his pockets and listened to the burbling of the nearby canal and the first of the chirping crickets. He remembered having asked his dad about the noise crickets made once—it had ended in a very awkward sex talk. No child should have to sit through their parent muttering embarrassedly about the birds and the bees.

Jerking the thought from his head, Jace rounded the corner and saw the Herondale house looming in front of him—a black shadow against in the darkening sky. Everyone knew the Herondale house—Jace just wasn't sure why Luke would take Clary there. Staring at it, his pulse spiking at the realization that Clary might be behind that door, he recalled the story the pack leader had told him about Stephen Herondale—the man who had been his father's second in command. The same man who had been told to divorce his first wife due to her undesirable family connections. Jace couldn't even begin to imagine agreeing to divorce the woman he loved. _If I was allowed to marry the woman I love—_ Jace bit down on his cheek, shaking his head. _Nothing anyone could say would make me leave her._ But Jace wasn't the only one who thought it was messed up. The more he thought about it, the more he remembered the tone in which Luke had spoken in when telling the story. The man-wolf had sounded sad when mentioning Amatis—

Jace blinked.

Was it possible?

He moved forward. Within seconds Jace was standing in front of the door, his pulse was thundering through his veins as he tried to take a steadying breath. His body didn't want to work right. It didn't want to . . . and then he was pacing the porch nervously, his hands raking spastically though his hair. If he knocked, would Clary be the one who answered? Would she slam the door in his face? His nerves spiked as the cool wind drifted up, brushing his face with the crisp air. And then he saw her Idris eyes—saw them staring at him from inside the study. Broken. Destroyed. _She called me Valentine._ He didn't deserve to be here. She deserved so much better than him— _you're not even an option!_ he all but screamed at himself. _She's your sister! She is your sister!_

"Can I help you?"

Startled, Jace spun to look at the woman with familiar blue eyes standing behind him. her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail and she was holding up a witchlight. She gasped upon seeing Jace's face—a reaction he was begrudgingly becoming used to. _Yes, I look like my father._ Taking a step forward, Jace drew his shoulders back and gave a sincere smile . . . though his pulse raced like a pack of wolves. "Hello, I'm—"

"Jace Morgenstern," the woman nodded, a strand of greying brown hair falling into her eyes. She reached up and tucked it back. "You might as well come in. Your sister's not back yet—nor is my wayward brother." Turning, she pushed open the door and held it for him. "I'm Amatis, by the way. Amatis Herondale."

Biting the inside of his cheek, Jace moved forward making sure not to show the surprise he felt at Amatis knowing his preferred name. Or the shock and fear he felt at her declaration of Clary not being back yet. What did that mean by _'not back yet,'_ anyway? Where the hell was she? Fighting back the barrage of questions he felt bubbling inside him, Jace followed the woman from the shadowy entryway, through a softly lit sitting room. It was nice—a lot like the Penhallow's, though not as big. And instead of the Asian decor that styled the Penhallow residence, Jace could definitely feel the overall British theme to this one. He remembered hearing that the Herondale's were an old family from London . . . but that had been Stephen. So Jace was a little more than surprised by the fact that Amatis continued it after all this time—or that she continued to use Stephen's last name. "Your brother is Luke right?" Jace asked.

"Lucian, yes," she said softly, entering the brightly lit kitchen. It was cozy, and smelled of freshly baked chocolate. There was a nice but old oak table in the center of the room; a table Amatis pointed at as she passed it. "Sit," she commanded as she moved toward the stove. With his brow furrowed, Jace shrugged out of his jacket and, glancing at the large fruit bowl that decorated the table, took a seat—the chair scrapping the hardwood floor loudly. And he watched as Amatis Marked herself with a heat resistance rune and pulled a baking sheet out of the oven. "Cookies?" she asked, setting it on the counter.

She was nervous, he realized. He could actually feel her nervous tension like an electric currant in the air. But before Jace could say more than, "Um," she had swept a few cookies onto a small plate and rounded the counter to set them in front of him. Jace stared at the cookies—chocolate chip. They were slightly burnt, but smelled amazing. He couldn't actually remember the last time he had eaten a cookie.

"Don't you eat?" Amatis asked, stepping back and watching him. Shaking her head, she pulled out a loaf of bread, some cheese, and some butter, placing it on the table next to the fruit bowl. Jace stared at it before lifting his eyes to meet the clear blue ones in front of him. The were so much lighter than Alec', but just like his _parabatai's,_ hers grew darker when she was upset or worried about something.

"You don't know where she is, do you." Jace stated quietly, his panic returning.

And Amatis spoke without a seconds hesitation. "I don't. She's been gone most of the day." And then she sighed and slumped into the chair opposite of Jace. She looked both wound up and exhausted. "After your Clary snuck out of the upstairs window yesterday—" _Snuck out of the window?_ Jace's heart scrambled. She hadn't mentioned that. "—I told her that I would not try to stop her from leaving again. My foolish brother should have realized this would happen when asking me to keep her here. She is like her mother—she does what she truly believes is right. More-so if it's something she desperately wants. Anyone thinking they can compete with that kind of drive and determination will be sorely disappointed."

 _Tell me about it._ All the same, Jace couldn't help but to feel some comfort at knowing that Luke had also been aware of the dangers of allowing Clary to walk around Idris. Which meant that coming here was not Luke's idea—not that Jace really thought it had been. Glancing back up at Amatis, Jace found her looking at him curiously. Not watching or even glancing at . . . but almost as if she were studying him. It made him uncomfortable. Biting down on his cheek, he tried to smile while hiding his growing trepidation with each tick of his watch.

Looking for something to do, Jace picked up a cookie, watching as crumbled slightly under his fingers and the chocolate melted against his skin. That was when he heard the front door open. _Clary._ His heart flipped at the sound of the lock being engaged. And then a breath. Looking up, Jace found Luke's sparkling blue eyes staring out at him from his sister's face before they were cast in the direction of the entryway. "Clary?" she called, startling a jump out of Jace. He lifted his brows, but she ignored him. "Is that you?" _Of course it's her._ Jace just knew, somehow.

But when no one answered, Amatis pushed herself up and out of the kitchen. Jace had begun to rise as well, but she had quickly waved him back down. Leaning forward, his elbows digging into the table as he spun the cookie in his hands, he waited. His body felt a bundle of exposed electrical wires and nerve endings. Why hadn't she responded to Amtis? He knew it was her. He knew that she was . . . he couldn't explain it. But then he heard Amatis speaking again, and he practically held his breath to hear her.

"Clary." Another long pause and then, "Your brother's here to see you. He's waiting in the kitchen."

Jace's stomach spasmed at the same moment that he heard Clary say, _"Jace_ is here?"

 _Oh she's pissed. She is super pissed. Nothing good can ever come from having your name said like that._ And Angel forgive him, but Jace seriously thought about running in that moment. He wouldn't, of course. He hoped. But that didn't stop the thoughts from flashing repeatedly in his mind like a scrolling billboard, trying desperately to tempt him with its offer of not getting yelled at. And judging by the tone of Amatis's voice when she spoke next, Jace knew that she had heard the anger in Clary's words as well.

"Should I not have let him in?" Luke's sister asked slowly, unsure. "I thought you'd want to see him."

 _Does she?_ Jace felt like he was straining to hear Clary's next word, though he knew with his sound rune, he would hear them just fine. He was just that wound up. "No, it's fine. I'm just tired." She sounded exhausted. What had she been doing today? Where had she been? _Please tell me you were with Luke._ For his own sanity, Jace held desperately to that belief just as Amatis made a noncommittal noise.

"Well," she continued then, almost awkwardly. "I'll be upstairs if you want me. I need a nap."

 _Why would she want you,_ Jace wondered against his will. Did Luke's sister think that he was a threat or something? If she did, she hadn't shown it when it had just been the two of them. Unless that had been what all the creepy staring had been about. In fact, she had—

Jace's thoughts shattered as Clary walked in.

Her ruby curls were windblown and she had some color to her freckled cheeks as she stood there looking at him. He could feel the quiet anger rolling off her in waves, and he bit back on his first instinct. Setting a green jacket on a nearby counter, Clary didn't take her eyes off of him. She was wearing a light white t-shirt and jeans and Jace could see a couple of her permanent runes peaking out at him—though she didn't have nearly as many as he did. And yet, he remembered when she didn't have any at all. _By the Angel, you're beautiful._ The thought was an achingly painful one. She was angry. He could tell just from the way she was glaring at him—her arms crossed over her heaving chest, her pulse rapid in her throat. And her Idris emeralds traveling down to the cookie he held in his hand. He wanted to reach for her. To touch her. To beg her for forgiveness.

 _Sister, sister, sister._

Jace slammed down on his emotions, forcing his face into one of disinterest. "Good," he said flipping the dessert absently in his hand and glancing up at her casually. "You're back. I was beginning to think you'd fallen into a canal." But Clary just stared, her emerald eyes flashing. She said nothing. Not a single word. _Should have run, jackass._ And now Jace could feel her anger pulsing through his veins like a tidal wave—his heart hammering out of control each time it crashed into the shore. _I'm so sorry. I'm so . . . Fuck! I'm such an idiot._ It was with great restraint that he kept all this down. Biting hard on the inside of his cheek, Jace leaned back, popping the front two legs of the chair off the ground as he tossed his arm over the wooden back. _Your sister!_ "You look exhausted," he said suddenly, dropping his head to the side thoughtfully he looked at her. And why was her hair windblown? And then he heard Amatis's voice— _she's been gone most of the day._ "Where have you been all day?" And though his voice was casual, the question was eating at him like a snake devouring it's meal. He didn't like not knowing where she was. In fact, it terrified him. What if she had gotten hurt? And the fact that she had limped in had not escaped him.

"I was out with Sebastian."

Time seemed to slow down as Jace stared at her, his mind breaking her words apart and putting them back together in different ways.

I _was out with Sebastian . . .  
_

 _I was with . . . Sebastian_ . . .

There was really only one way to arrange them. And they echoed through Jace head painfully just as time and shock slammed into him, the force of knocking the wind out of him. He brought the legs of chair down with a sharp crack. _You . . .were out with . . . "Sebastian?"_ The last word came out sounding just as shocked as he felt, and he cursed himself for letting it show. But . . . _Sebastian?_

"He walked me home last night," Clary said matter-of-fact—like Sebastian walking her home was the most natural thing in the world. _Well let me tell you something_ —Jace bit down on the inside of his cheek, effectively cutting off the thought. He hated feeling like this. _Hated_ it. And Jace fisted his hands in his lap as Clary continued pointedly, her voice trembling with rage. "And so far he's the only person in this city whose been remotely nice to me." He stared at her, his heart twisting. Jace had never heard sound like that before—like she was angry and betrayed and hurting more than him. And the pain in her eyes when she looked at him—those Idris eyes—guilt slammed into him with the force of a charging bull. "So yes," she finished, "I was with Sebastian."

"I see." It was all he could think to say in that moment, his face expressionless as he set the cookie down as gently as he could—lest he throw it against the wall in a fit of rage. He had known that Sebastian had walked Clay home yesterday; Max had told him as much. But to hear it from her—his heart spasmed painfully. _I'm stupid. I'm so, so stupid._ He had yelled at her yesterday so of course Sebastian would seize the opportunity to do what Jace hadn't done—be happy to see her. _I should have poked the fucker in the eye._ Taking a jittery breath, Jace looked back up at Clary, at her dangerously flashing emeralds that would always remind him of home. "Clary, I came here to apologize." _Please forgive me._ "I shouldn't have spoken to you the way I did."

"No. You shouldn't have." Her voice was as sharp and as intense as a seraph blade.

Jace swallowed nervously. "I also came—" _to tell you about Simon. About what I did._ "—to ask if you'd reconsider going back to New York." The words had blurted themselves out before he could stop himself. Okay, so that hadn't been exactly what he had meant to tell her. But she was already pissed—he didn't really think telling her about Simon was going to help. He would figure it out . . . he would find a way to get Simon out without her knowing. And yet, even as he thought it, it became immediately clear that that was probably not going to happen. Across from him, Clary was shaking her head, her face twisting indignantly.

"God," she breathed, her eyes blazing with emerald fire. "This again—"

"It's not safe for you here," Jace exhaled pleadingly, going with it. That had always been true—that one thing. He just wanted to keep her safe. If he could just make her understand that without it becoming a screaming match. But anything else he had thought to say in that moment disappeared as Clary took the smallest of steps forward—her body tensing in a way that Jace's Shadowhunter eyes recognized right away. It was the same tenseness he felt before exploding into action. _What are you doing, Clary?_ He bit the inside of his cheek as Clary's icy gaze met his.

"What are you worried about?" She asked softly. Deadly. And a voice in Jace's head yelled at him to abort mission—screamed at him to run. He did neither as Clary continued on in the terrifying calm that Jace was one hundred percent sure meant nothing good. "That they'll throw me in prison like they did with Simon?"

Jace rocketed back, the front legs of the chair shooting off the floor. She knew? His mouth popped open as he stared in shock and dread and . . . _she fucking knows?_ But how . . . Sebastian had sworn on the Angel—Jace had heard him. And then he was grasping for something to say—anything—as Clary walked slowly toward the table. All he managed to get out was a pathetic, _"Simon—"_ before Clary was silencing him. _  
_

"Sebastian told me what happened to him," she hissed. _Congratulations, vampire—there's someone I now hate more than you._ "What you did," she continued flattening her palms against the hard oak wood. But Sebastian had sworn on the Angel! "How you brought him here and then just let him get thrown in jail." _There had better be one dead fucking Shadowhunter when I get back to the Penhallows,_ Jace thought savagely. And then Clary blew out slowly from between her teeth, her eyes flashing to his. "Are you _trying_ to get me to hate you?"

 _Yes._

 _No._

God, he hated Sebastian. Biting on the inside of his cheek, Jace looked steadily at Clary. He swallowed nervously. "And you trust Sebastian?" he asked quietly. _More than me?_ Jace knew he hadn't exactly won any points from her since this whole Idris thing had started, but . . . _You know me better than that._ "You barely know him, Clary."

But Clary only shook her head, her hair bouncing and eyes going wild as she glared daggers at him. "Is it _not_ true?"

Taking a breath, Jace exhaled slowly. "It's true."

Snapping up a plate, Clary flung it forcefully at Jace. _Seriously?!_ Seeing her intentions a fraction of a second before she had moved, however, Jace ducked down and spun out of the way as the plate sailed past his ear and shattered against the wall behind him. The shards rained into the sink. From the seat of his chair, Jace caught her snatch up another plate and fling it. _What the shit?!_ he thought desperately, exploding out of the chair and kicking it between them just as the second plate flew wild. It ricocheted off the fridge with a sharp crack and landed at his feet. Jace stared at it like it was a ticking time bomb before glancing back up at Clary wide eyed, his heart pounding the adrenaline of battle through his body. But this wasn't a battle—he could barely breathe—this was . . . _Stop!_

But Clary wasn't stopping. "How could you," she hissed, her body enraged and ready for a fight as she prowled forward like a feline hunting its prey. "Simon trusted you." She flipped up another plate into her hand and Jace readied himself to dive one way or the other. But she didn't throw this one. She only glared at him like he had betrayed her. He wished she'd throw the plate instead. "Where is he now?" she demanded, setting the porcelain back down. "What are they going to do to him?"

"Nothing," Jace said quickly, putting his hands up in defeat. "He's all right. I saw him last night—"

"Before or after I saw you?" Her voice was like stretched wire— _tread carefully._ "Before or after you pretended everything was all right and you were just fine."

And Jace snapped his head back like he had been slapped. _Whoa whoa whoa,_ _back the fuck up here._ Was she serious? He stared at Clary in stunned disbelief. Was she joking—this had to be a joke. _Do you actually believe that . . . did you really think . . ._ Jace didn't know whether to laugh or scream. "You came away from _that_ thinking I was just fine?" He choked out over insane dry laughter as he raked his fingers through his hair, a painful smile stretching his lips. "I must be a better actor than I thought."

Clary lost it. She scrambled across the table for the fruit bowl and Jace prepared himself for the onslaught of banana's and apples as best as he could. But he didn't get fruit. He didn't get anymore plates either. In her rage, Clary kicked the chair between them aside instead, her chest heaving as she glared at him. He could only stare back, wide eyed, his body on fire as he waited to see what she do next— _please stop throwing shit_ —his body tensed.

And then she threw herself at him.

 _What the_ — The surprise of it caught him off guard and Jace didn't have time to move as she barreled into him, her tiny body as powerful as battering ram as she knocked him back painfully against the counter. He gasped—whether in pain or in surprise, he didn't know. Might have been both. But he also didn't have time to contemplate it as her arm cocked back— _Are you kidding me?!_ He turned his face away, his hand shooting up as her fist sprung forward. It smashed into his palm. Biting the inside of his cheek, he wrapped his fingers over hers and forced her hand as gently to her side as he could. She glared at him, her eyes almost black under her dilated pupils. She was breathing hard, her breast rising and falling against his chest and sending forks of lightning shooting through his veins. He could feel the heat spreading through his limbs as the small curves of her body pressed against his.

"Let go of my hand," she demanded breathily.

Jace was breathing hard too, pinned between the counter and Clary, but he didn't let go of her hand. "Are you really going to hit me if I do?" His voice was both soft and rough with pleading. Maybe it was that he _wanted_ her to hit him. Or maybe it was that he felt more awake in this moment than he had in the last several weeks. But more than likely, it was just Clary. Only Clary could make him feel like this—drive him nuts like this. And it made Jace want her more. He knew it was wrong—wrong on so many levels, but—by the Angel, he wanted her.

Clary's lashes swept her cheeks as she took a breath. And then she was looking up at him, her emerald eyes clear. And when she spoke, her voice was like the crack of an electrum whip. "Don't you think you deserve it?"

 _Do I deserve it?_ A breath of humorless laughter escaped his chest at that. Jace couldn't help it. _Of course, I deserve it._ He deserved to have his ass handed to him for the way he had spoken to her, the way he had lied to her, and for bringing Simon to Idris. But everything that had happened . . . wasn't supposed to have happened. It had gone wrong— _horribly_ wrong. _And I'm trying my hardest to fix it._ He had to make her understand that. Gripping her hand tightly in his, he looked down at her. "Do you think I planned all of this?" he whispered, begging that she believe him. Capturing her Idris eyes, he refused to let her look away. "Do you really think _I'd_ do that?"

"Well, you don't like Simon, do you?" she pointed out, her words laced with accusation. And Jace reared back as she continued. "Maybe you never have."

 _You did not just accuse me of disliking that stupid bloodsucking asshole!_ Thoughts aside, Jace scoffed with indignant disbelief and dropped her hand as he straightened up to his full height. _Really?! You want to suggest that I don't like your friend?_ The shift in his weight threw Clary off balance and she stepped back quickly to catch herself just as Jace shoved his arm out at her, his palm up and showing off the ragged silver scar on his wrist. "This," He said when her eyes focused on it. "Is where I cut my wrist to let your vampire friend drink my blood." _Because you asked me to save him._ "It nearly killed me." _But I knew how important Simon was to you. Even then, when I wanted so badly to hate him . . . I knew it would kill you if he got hurt._ "And now you think, what, that I just abandoned him without a thought?"

Clary's gaze darted from Jace's jaggedly scarred wrist, to his neck, and then lingered on his eyes. "Sebastian told me that you brought Simon here, and then Alec marched him up to the Gard. Let the Clave have him," she breathed heavily. "You must have known—"

"I brought him here by _accident,"_ Jace said, emphasizing the word for what must have been the millionth time. What wouldn't be an accident, however, was Sebastian's slow painful death. _The lying, two-faced, oh boo-hoo poor me let me be your friend, douche bag—_ Jace took a breath as the anger flared wildly. And then he looked down at Clary, the sight of her tempering his rage in the way only she could. He told her everything, unable to keep it in anymore. "I asked him to the Institute so I could talk to him. About _you,_ actually. I thought maybe he could convince you to drop the idea of coming to Idris." And then he frowned irritably. "If it's any consolation, he wouldn't even consider it." Jace sighed. He felt like he had repeated this story more time than he could count. But he would do it again for her. He owed it to her. "While he was there, we were attacked by Forsaken. I _had_ to drag him through the Portal with me." Jace rubbed at his temples with his thumb and forefinger as he remembered seeing Simon stabbed by the Forsaken. "It was that or leave him there to die."

Clary began tugging absently on her curls, her eyes gleaming under the bright witchstone blazing in the kitchen. "But why bring him to the Clave," she asked, searching Jace's face intently. "You must have known—"

"The reason we sent him there," Jace pressed, adjusting himself against the counter, "was because the only Portal in Idris is in the Gard. They told us they were sending him back to New York."

"And you _believed_ them?" Clary shook her head, her red curls bouncing on her shoulders. "After what happened with the Inquisitor?"

"Clary," Jace sighed, his fingers itching to touch her—to push a curly lock of hair back. He refrained. "The Inquisitor was an anomaly. That might have been your first experience with the Clave, but it wasn't mine—the Clave is _us."_ Alec would have been proud of his propaganda—which was probably why Jace felt sick. "The Nephilim. They abide by the Law."

"Except that they didn't." Clary said stubbornly

And Jace bit the inside of his cheek. "No," he conceded. "They didn't." _Because we're Valentine's children_ _—the rules don't apply to us._ It suddenly dawned on Jace that all his dealings with the Clave had been as Jace Wayland, son of Michael Wayland—dead Circle member; not as Jonathan Morgenstern, son of Valentine Morgenstern—the very much alive and very much feared Circle leader. And then a jolt went though him as he realized that his father had predicted this. He had told Jace that the Clave would turn against him—would treat him like a criminal—all because of who he was. Who his father was. Jace had not wanted to believe it. But his father had persisted that Jace would see the Clave's corruptness for himself soon enough. _And I'll be damned if I haven't._ The thought was a surprising one and it made him feel guilty. But . . . it was still true. He looked at Clary. "And the worst part about all of this is remembering Valentine ranting about the Clave, how it's corrupt, how it needs to be cleansed. And by the Angel if I don't agree with him." Jace dropped his head and shook it lightly, surprised with what he was hearing even though he was the one saying it. He as agreeing with Valentine . . . he was— _I am not my father._ The thought cracked through his skull like a spear. Raising his eyes slowly, Jace peeked up at Clary from under his lashes. What did she think of his admittance?

He got lost in the green meadows of her eyes.

Clary was silent, her pulse thrumming softly in her neck as she stood there looking at him. But there was no rage there now. She only watched him carefully and without judgment. And he could feel as his own anger flaring out, lashing at himself. He didn't deserve to be looked at like that—she should hate him. _You have every right to hate me._ Jace reached forward, his fingers circling Clary's wrist softly—tugging at her. How could he agree with his father? Jace knew all too well the kind of people that _agreed_ with Valentine's point of view. Circle members. _I am not a Circle member—I am not my father._

Clary took a breath, her breast pressing against Jace. "He might be right that things need fixing—" Was she agreeing with him? Jace reached for her other arm, his fingers easily circling her wrist. Did she really feel the same? "But," she continued softly, looking up at him, "he's not right about the way they should be fixed." _Maybe not the how_ _—but the why._ "You can see that, can't you."

Every part of Jace was filled with her—the smell of her hair, the touch of her skin. He bit back his surprise and aching desire at finding her so close to him; her body pressing against him as he leaned back against the counter. On some level Jace knew it was he who had pulled her toward him—knew that he shouldn't have done so, but not caring. And she had let him. He missed having her against him—feeling her body fit him like he knew it always would. The last few weeks had been hell. _Pretending not to love you is exhausting, Clary._

And then he blinked half lidded eyes at her. "I'm not sure I can see anything." _Just you._ Jace pressed lightly against her, wanting desperately to be closer to Clary as their knees bumped together. And he watched as her lips popped open deliciously, her Idris eyes glancing up at him. But she said nothing. She only just stared. God, he hated himself. He shouldn't want this— _he shouldn't want her._ And he _definitely_ didn't deserve that look she was giving him now, or her forgiveness— _e_ _ven if I was_ allowed _to have you, I wouldn't deserve you._ "You have every right to be angry, Clary," he breathed, pressing his forehead against her hair. "I shouldn't have trusted the Clave." He slipped his calloused hands down over her soft ones, lacing their fingers together and holding them tightly at their sides. Her hair tickled his face and he could smell the lavender coming from her skin. "I wanted so badly to think that the Inquisitor was an abnormality—" He took a haggard breath, heat licking it's way through his body "—that she was acting without their authority, that there was still some part of being a Shadowhunter I could trust." And then he closed his eyes—trying hard to shut out the memories of the City of Bones running with blood and the sadistic Inquisitor that had nearly gotten him killed in her quest for revenge. Your father would be proud. Those had been her last words to him.

"Jace." Clary's voice was soft, pleading, and Jace bit the inside of his cheek, opening his eyes slowly. He leaned back only slightly, but she was already filling in the gap, pressing forward and laying her forehead head against his chest; her hands at her sides gripping his tighter. Her breath was hot through the thin material of his shirt. And then she raised her eyes to him—those eyes he would do anything for—and Jace had to fight the urge to stroke her cheek. But she said nothing as her breast fell and rose against his chest. Jace swallowed.

"What is it?" he asked gently, softly—like the brush of a feather on the wind. He would do anything for her.

"I want to see Simon." _Not that_. "Can you take me to see him?"

He tensed. "No." Dropping her hands abruptly, Jace side stepped out from between her and the counter. Shaking his head, it was like his heart had been jacked up to max volume. His pulse was pounding thunderously in his ears. He had gotten carried away. He shouldn't have been so close to her. _Sister, sister, sister._ And there was no way she could go to the Gard—no way she could see Simon's cell. He looked at her and flinched inwardly as he remembered all too well what happened the last time he had told her not to do something. _But you have to understand . . ._ "You're not even supposed to be in Idris. You can't go waltzing into the Gard."

"But—" Clary looked down as she clasped her hands together, her voice wavering, "—he'll think everyone's abandoned him. He'll think—"

 _Don't cry . . . don't—_ "I went to see him," Jace said quickly, hoping to stem the flow of her unshed tears. He didn't think he could handle her tears right now. It worked, she looked up at him with surprise and Jace felt the ghost of a smile touch his lips. _I told you, I know what he means to you . . ._ "I was going to let him out. I was going to tear the bars out of the window with my hands." _For you, Clary. Because of what he means to you._ And then Jace sighed. "But he wouldn't let me."

Whatever Clary had been expecting, it wasn't that. Jace watched as she reared back. "He wouldn't _let_ you?" she asked incredulously. "He wanted to stay in jail?"

 _Yes. And no._ Jace rubbed at his eyes; his energy and endurance runes were spent and he was going to need to replenish them. "He said the Inquisitor was sniffing around after my family, after me. Aldertree wants to blame what happened in New York on us. He can't grab one of us and torture it out of us—the Clave would frown on that—" _I think._ "—but he's trying to get Simon to tell him some story where we're all in cahoots with Valentine. Simon said if I break him out, the Inquisitor will know I did it, and it'll be even worse for the Lightwoods."

Clary rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "That's all very noble of him and all, but what's his long range plan? To stay in jail forever?"

Jace had known she would ask this, and Simon's voice grated it's way through his head. _Until we think of a better idea._ Unfortunately, said better idea had not been thought of yet. Looking at Clary, he shrugged. "We hadn't exactly worked that out."

Clary's eyes bulged slightly, her breath coming out in a rush. _"Boys."_ She hissed it as if Jace and Simon were the bane of her existence; nearly cracking a smile out of him with her frustration. Some part of him liked knowing that he got under her skin just as she did his. "All right, look," Clary continued, her brows furrowing together as her voice dropped an octave. She was tugging on her curls again. "What you need is an alibi." _An alibi? —oh._ "We'll make sure you're somewhere everyone can see you—" _Clary . . ._ "—and the Lightwoods are too." _Clary stop._ "And then we'll get Magnus to break Simon out of prison and get him back up to New York."

 _Well that's never going to happen._ Putting his hands up, Jace stopped her. "I hate to tell you this, Clary—" he said gently, his voice tinged with the amusement. Was she really trying to come up with tactics to create a diversion? "—but there is no way Magnus would do that. I don't care how cute he thinks Alec is, he's not going to go directly against the Clave as a favor to us."

To his surprise, Clary grinned. "He might . . . for the Book of the White."

 _The what?_ "The what?"

But Clary's smile only deepened. And then she was launching into everything she had done today with Sebastian—Jace's stomach twisting the whole time. She had told the Penhallow cousin about her search for the warlock and Sebastian had somehow figured out who it was. _Convenient, that._ Jace thought unkindly. He didn't like knowing that the Penhallow boy had kept this from him. He had had plenty of time to mention it earlier. You know, when he was busy _not_ really swearing on the Angel like he said. And then Jace realized with a jolt that Sebastian _had_ mentioned it. _I have to run some errands anyway._ Jace bit down, his thoughts deadly. _Well, aren't you clever._ Taking a breath, he forced himself to focus as she told him about how they had gone to Ragnor Fell's cottage only to find Magnus there instead—how Magnus pretended to be Ragnor before freezing Sebastian—r _emind me to thank him_ —and showing Clary the truth.

"Ragor was murdered," Clary breathed. "Magnus said by demons—but he had left behind the truth for Magnus to find. He said that the cure for my mother could be found in the Book of the White. And—" she cut herself off as she looked at Jace with wide eyes. She seemed nervous and Jace wanted to move to her; tell her to continue—that it would be okay. He wanted to be supportive in a way he hadn't been in the last few weeks. He crossed his arms as she pulled out a chair and sat. "—and that the Book of the White could be found inside the Wayland Manor—found inside a cookbook, _Recipes for Housewives."_

Jace clamped down on his cheek as disbelief and astonishment radiated tumultuously through his bones. _The Wayland manor._ _His home. Inside his library._ The book was there . . . and on some level, it was strange knowing that Jocelyn had woven her way into Jace's life, even then—when neither had a way of knowing the other was alive. Jerking the thought violently away, he listened as Clary went on; how Magnus believed the manor had misdirection wards placed on it—which was true; it did—and how she would have to figure out how to get there on her own— _I can get you there._ Jace shoved the thought down swiftly as she finished with Magnus's request to keep Sebastian in order to use him as a coat rack. _You should have let him._ But the thought held no merit. Jace _did_ appreciate that the warlock had warned Clary against telling Sebastian the truth, however. It meant that he wasn't the only one who saw past the Penhallow boys act.

Jace sighed, pushing his hand through his hair and rubbing the back of his skull. It was too much to take in. It was all just too much. But he decided to start with the most pressing issue—Ragnor's murder. "Demon's?" Jace began, wanting to make sure he had heard her correctly. Because if demons were appearing in Idris . . . _oh, this is bad._ "Magnus said Fell was killed by demons?"

Clary stared at him, her eyes going blank. "No—" and then she shook her head. "He said the place stank of something demonic in origin. And that Fell was killed by 'Valentine's servants.' That's all he said."

Jace broke apart her words and pieced them back together in his mind, his head shaking. "If Magnus wasn't specific, it's probably because he is none too pleased that there's a warlock out there practicing dark magic, breaking the Law." And then he shrugged, his shoulders tight. "But it's hardly the first time Valentine's gotten one of Lilith's children to do his nasty bidding. Remember the warlock kid he killed in New York?"

"Valentine used his blood for the Ritual. I remember." Clary said quietly, goosebumps racing her arms that had nothing to do with being cold. And then— "Jace," she turned her curious eyes to him. She looked scared. "Does Valentine want the Book for the same reason I do? To wake my mother up?"

 _My_ mother _—_ never _our_ mother.

But Jace didn't think long on it this time. She was watching him, her eyes cracked open and revealing how terrified she was at the idea of Valentine getting the cure before she could. Jace wished he knew the answer—but he would be lying if he said he knew his father's mind. He used to—but how much of what he knew had been a lie? "He might," Jace said after a pause. "Or if it's what Magnus says it is, Valentine might just want it for the power he could gain from it." And then he took a breath, his golden eyes drowning in a sea of green. "Either way, we'd better get it before he does."

Clary blinked, her teeth worrying at her lower lip as she watched him almost cautiously. "Do you think there's any chance it's in the Wayland manor?"

Another currant slammed into him as he thought of his childhood home. He could still see every detail of it plastered inside his eyelids. He could see the nooks and crannies—the kitchen—his room. He could see the books lining the shelves—one standing out to him by being practically invisible and nondescript in it's description. "I know it's there," he said carefully, guarding his emotions as surprise painted her face. "That cookbook? _Recipes for Housewives_ or whatever? I've seen it before. In the manor's library. It was the only cookbook there."

Clary was out of her chair and standing in front of him, her eyes wide—pleading. And Jace could feel her adrenaline and excitement snapping from her like static electricity. "Jace—" Clary shook her head, her brows crinkling her forehead together. And Jace was overcome with the strong urge to reach up and smooth it out. He didn't. "If you take me to the manor, and we get the book, I'll go home with Simon." _That's_ so _playing dirty!_ Jace groaned internally. What she was doing . . . it wasn't—she wasn't playing fair! And she knew it. "Do this for me—" _Clary . . . please . . ._ "—and I'll go to New York, and I won't come back."

Jace felt his resolve snap like a cord that had reached its weight limit.

"Magnus was right," he found himself saying slowly, he felt sick. "there are misdirection wards on the manor." And then he took a breath. _Only for you—_ he bit the inside of his cheek. Only for her would he willingly return to the manor—the house that had been both his heaven and his hell for ten years. "I'll take you there," Jace said quietly, steeling himself for what he was agreeing to. _Only for you._ "But it's not close," he warned. "Walking, it might take us five hours."

At that, the corner of Clary's mouth ticked up deliciously as she reached forward, relieving him of his stele. And when she pulled it back—had she meant for her fingers to brush his bare abdomen like that? His pulse spiked, his breath catching as he stared at her wildly. He knew her touch shouldn't have that effect on him—and that he shouldn't _want_ it to have that effect on him—but he couldn't help it. He did. Slowly, his eyes traveled to the thin sliver of _adamas_ she held between her fingers and the wicked grin on her lips.

"Who said anything about walking?"

* * *

 _ **AN:** Hope you all liked the chapter! And a huge HUGE thank you to all of my readers! To all the people commenting, PM'ing, favoriting, and following . . . words can not describe my appreciation and how blown away I am. But seriously, you all rock! I don't think I say that enough, lol. _

_Oh, and also translation of language . . ._

 _Sebastian: "I get it_ — _you don't like me."_

 _Jace: "I don't trust you," he corrected._

 _Anyway, **Please review!**_


	10. Once Upon A Midnight Dreary

_**AN:** Alright ladies and gents, I know it may seem like it's taken me forever to write this one, and you're right! I just did not have the time I usually do to write these past couple weeks. But it's down now, and I made sure to make it a little long just for making you wait. Hope you guys enjoy the chapter of just Clace! As always, a huge thank you to everyone! _

_Oh._

 _Ohh._

 _Just so I feel better, I'm gonna **Rate** this chapter **M.** So read at your own risk?_

* * *

 **~ Chapter Nine ~  
Once Upon A Midnight Dreary  
**

To say that Jace was surprised when Clary pulled out his stele and created a Portal right there in the middle of Amatis's kitchen would not be an adequate enough description. He was down right floored. Never had something like that been heard of—only warlocks could make Portals. And yet there it was; a swirling vortex of blue. Jace cast a side-long glance at Clary, who was watching him apprehensively. She was waiting for him to say something. But what could he possibly say that would accurately describe his awe at seeing it? Or the dread at knowing that this was exactly why he hadn't wanted her here. What would the Clave do if they found out she could create Portals now?

Jace coughed, trying hard not to think about it. "What do I do?"

"It's just like any other Portal—"

And Jace's head snapped toward her, his gaze intense as he took in her beautifully freckled face. He shook his head. "This is _not_ just like _'_ any other Portal.'"

At that, Clary flushed and looked away and Jace's pounding heart ached to reach for her, to trace a finger across her cheek. He didn't. _You_ _shouldn't want her,_ he told himself. _You_ _shouldn't want to touch her. Not like that._ Why couldn't he stop wanting her? Jace knew he should still be trying to get her to leave—to go back to New York. Not traipsing through a Shadowhunter made Portal to his childhood home in order to find a cookbook. And yet . . . he had to. In the end, he would do anything she asked him to. Especially after the way he had treated her—and the way she had looked at him for it. _Never again_.

Tugging nervously on her curls, Clary's emerald orbs looked up at him from under her lashes. "Just—" she swallowed and Jace's stomach twisted. "—just think of the manor."

Biting down on his cheek, Jace held out his hand to Clary and waited as she looked down at his calloused fingers like they were both terrifying and intriguing. Neither of them spoke. But when she finally slip her hand into his, her skin searing his palm, he felt his chest explode. And then he tried focusing on the Portal again. He could hear Clary's words echoing inside his head; both soothing and terrifying. _Just think of the manor._ That wouldn't be hard. Jace thought of the manor a lot—more-so since his fathers return. It had been seven years since he had been there and still he could see every piece of it in perfect detail. He could see the sitting room and the large black drapes that hung over the large bay windows. He could still feel the freezing cold of the dark mahogany wood under his bare feet as he ran across it. He could see the library shelves, the stacks upon stacks of books, and the window seat where he had spent hours studying Latin and Romanian and religion. It's where he had been told that Downworlders were less than even the mundane humans that were oblivious of their existence inside the Shadow World.

And he could see the study. He could see the blood seeping under the door of the closet and soaking his shoes.

They stepped into the Portal.

Jace hit the ground hard and tucked himself in quickly, rolling into a crouch. At some point he had lost Clary's hand during the ride through the wind storm, but the sound of a heavy thump nearby told him that she had made it through. It was dark but his Nyx rune was picking up the billowing rise of dust that had been disturbed upon his abrupt arrival. And then he froze, his heart pounding as he took in the familiar stone walls—the large grand piano next to him covered with a sheet; _For death and mourning the color's white_. And if he turned his head to the left, he would be able to see the door where he had hid as a child.

He didn't want to think of that.

He didn't . . .

Jace was on his feet in a blur of movement, his adrenaline pulsing sporadically. He could feel the memories slamming into him, trying hard to get past his carefully constructed walls. He didn't want to be alone. Not here. "Clary?" he called out, forcing himself to sound calmer than he felt. But he wasn't about to let her or anyone else know how being here affected him. The room was shrouded in sheets and shadows and the smell of dust. Jace blinked. Being back here was like a surreal nightmare. And then there was Clary, lying on the other side of the piano in the middle of the Persian rug; his past and present colliding brilliantly in the size of a five foot two tornado. Even in the dark, he could see that her curls were disheveled and windblown as a fine layer of dust covered her. She was staring up at him wide eyed. But just seeing her helped calm his heart a fraction and he expelled a breath he didn't realize he had been holding in. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Fine," Clary grumbled irritably, and Jace nearly laughed. She had no idea how weird this was for him; seeing her in his childhood home. And then he caught her wince and rub at her elbow as he moved out from behind the piano and his desire to laugh died. Had she hurt herself? Was her elbow hurt? _Of course it is, dumbass—why else would she be rubbing at it._ He just hoped it wasn't something too bad. It wasn't. Clary was already moving it as she took in the study from where she sat. And then she shrugged and pushed her curls out of her face. "Aside from the fact that Amatis will probably kill me when we get back." Something Jace noticed she seemed remarkably unconcerned about. But then, he remembered all too well what Amatis had said about Clary's determination. _You couldn't have been more right_. And then Clary looked up at him, her Idris eyes locking onto his. "Considering that I smashed all her plates and opened up a Portal in her kitchen."

At this, Jace did smile before he made his way over to her. That Portal had been something—he still felt just as in awe of it as he did back in Amatis's house _—_ something he realized he had yet to tell Clary. "For what it's worth," he began, reaching down to take her hand. He pulled her to her feet. "I was very impressed." And he saw the corner of Clary's mouth twitch in a smile.

"Thanks," she said, turning to look at the covered statues as she wiped her hands on her jeans. And then her eyes glazed over the closet door and Jace tensed up next to her, though he was careful to keep his face relaxed. She knew what had happened to him here, but he wondered if she realized that this was where he had seen his father murdered. Or at least . . . what he had thought had been his father being murdered. Jace cast a bitter glance at the closet where he had hidden. _You should have stayed dead._

"So this is where you grew up?"

Jace bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to remain expressionless as he cast his gaze down at Clary with impassive eyes. She was the only one who had ever been able to crack his carefully constructed facade to reveal his true emotions, but not this time. Not right now. And not here. He had to keep himself together here; it would be so easy to get lost in memories. Clary would make it easier for him, though. Jace would never admit it, but he'd have never been able to come back here alone.

It was strange how you could both miss and fear something all at the same time.

Moving away from him, Clary took in more of the covered furniture and the picture windows that were set into the stone walls. "It's like something out of a fairy tale," she exhaled, her artist eyes sweeping over everything with bright curiosity.

And she couldn't be more wrong.

"I was thinking horror movie."

Jace may be a Shadowhunter who was painfully behind on mundane fads and interests, but he had seen enough movies to know that this house would get a firm R rating. Shaking his head, Jace moved toward the covered desk and stared at it thoughtfully. Though, not everything had been bad here. That was the thing. That's what made this place both terrifying and nostalgic. Like this desk. He had chipped his tooth on this stupid desk. On his tenth birthday, Jace had been playing a rousing game of Demon Mist in lieu of training. It was what he had asked for that year—a break from studying. During his down time, he had decided that the floor was covered in a demon mist that would transport him to another dimension if he touched it. He had attempted to jump from the love seat to the desk when— _wham!_ —he nailed his face on the corner of the ridiculously hard oak wood, loosing a piece of his front tooth.

The good news was that he had not been transferred to any demon dimensions upon hitting the ground after the assault to his face. The bad news was that there was nothing he could do to reattach that piece of tooth. It had been small, but to this day he noticed it every time he looked into a mirror. His one damn flaw to his otherwise flawless visage. And to this day, it still annoyed him.

"God, it's been years since I've seen this place," he breathed, shaking away the memory as he stared at the space between the dust and sheet covered desk and love seat. He could definitely make that jump now, no problem. Granted the amount of dust that would be kicked up in the process would probably send him and Clary into a coughing fit. Jace was used to everything gleaming and polished. "It didn't use to be so—"

"So cold?"

Jace turned to look at Clary, watching as she did up the last couple buttons on her green jacket and smiled. He liked the way green looked on her—especially if it matched her eyes. But then he shook his head. "No," he said bluntly as her emerald eyes swept up to meet his. "It was always cold." It always would be—and not even the good memories like playing Demon Mist or watching the stars fall or even a spaghetti bath could change that. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his witchlight. And then he shrugged casually. "I was going to say _dusty."_ Jace squeezed the rune-stone, blinking into the bright light as it chased away the shadows. Clary was staring up at him curiously, like she didn't believe him but he only shook his head and started toward the door that lead to the hall. "This is the study, and we need the library," he called back to her, holding the door open. "Come on."

Clary moved out into the hall, but then waited for Jace to take the lead. They were on the bottom floor of the manor. Upstairs you would find his and Valentine's room as well as a few spare rooms; not that they ever had a slew of visitors, by any means. And the ones they did get— _w_ _ere the last loyal members to the Circle. Stop thinking about it._

All the same, he shuddered as they passed the staircase. They walked in silence down the hall, Jace wrapped up in the memories of his old home and trying hard not to be. If they turned down that corridor, they would end up in the kitchen. And this one led to a sitting room. _Fuck, this was weird._ He clenched his teeth, trying hard to strengthen his mental armor and hoping it would rid him of the strange sensations slamming into him like a tidal wave—foreboding and longing, sadness and relief. It was too much.

Turning down a mirror lined hall, Jace focused instead on the way the witchlight reflecting brilliantly back and forth between the reflective glass and the stained glass windows. It was like a kaleidoscope of colors. Catching his dusty reflection in one of the mirrors, Jace watched unseen as Clary tried to tame her wild fiery curls behind. She was patting at her head, running her fingers through the tangles, and she was scowling just as she looked up. A fork of electricity coursed through his veins at the flash of her emerald eye connecting with his and Jace looked away quickly, a grin stretching across his lips. He couldn't help it. Her curls were as untamable as she was, and hoped she always would be. Because no matter how frustrating as her stubbornness was . . . he wouldn't have her any other way. Not that he got to have her. She was his sister. _Shut up._

Chewing on his cheek, he led her down another corridor with closed doors, though he knew what lied behind them: an office, a bathroom, a training room . . . and at the end of the hall, the library. Jace stared only briefly at the closed door before he shoved it open with his shoulder. Standing back, he gave Clary a tight smile and gestured her through before following closely behind her.

The library looked as it had the day he left, save for a bit more dirt and dust. The witchlight poured through the room, lighting up the shelves and rolling ladders that were stacked with— _o_ _h look, more dust_ —books. He had had to use the rolling ladders once, having been too small to reach the top shelves in his youth. He also used to just enjoy riding the ladders along the tracks for fun, kicking off the walls to build up speed, though not when his father was home. Jace felt his heart constrict with the pain of a lost childhood. And then his eyes fell on the velvet green curtains that were still pulled open as they had been on the day he left for New York. The window, a checker board of blue and green glass, was dark with the night sky behind it. But Jace knew better. He knew that beyond the curtains, past the dusty pains of glass, were the hills and meadows that he had stared at from the window seat time and time again. He had never seen such a green as those hills and meadows. And when the golden rays of morning touched the earth, capturing the emerald grass in its embrace and chasing away the dark shadows of the night—Jace felt himself flush as he cast a covert glance at Clary. He never thought he would see that kind of beauty again—not in New York at least. But that was before he had met _her._ Before he saw those eyes in Pandemonium staring at him like he was a lunatic. If you had told him that someday he would see Idris staring out at him from the eyes of a mundane girl, he'd have told you to lay off the faerie powder. But Clary wasn't a mundane.

By the Angel that seemed so long ago. _Yeah, everything was a lot simpler then._

The thought was a cuttingly wistful one.

"This is the library?" Clary breathed suddenly, her voice a hushed whisper as she pulled Jace from his thoughts. She looked surprised; or impressed. And the the ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Jace's lips.

"I used to sit in that window seat—" he pointed, "—and read whatever my father had assigned me that day." _And get punished for anything I got wrong._ "Different languages on different days—French on Saturday, English on Sunday—" And then Jace frowned. "I can't remember now what day Latin was, if it was Monday or Tuesday . . ." He trailed off, staring at the window seat. _Was Latin on Monday? Or was that Romanian? No, Romanian was Wednesday._ Jace bit down hard on his cheek. He couldn't remember. _I can't_ —the realization of this jolted him. He always remembered! _Always!_ And it wasn't that his father wouldn't kill him for forgetting—he had learned that early on—but there were worse things than death. At least in the eyes of a small child. Jace could feel his heart racing as he stared into the past. _What day was Latin on?!_ His adrenaline jack-hammered with unease. He could see himself as a child, reading, studying, terrified at the prospect of admitting to his father that he had forgotten his lessons. Jace shook his head, his voice a mixture of breathless horror and surprise. "I can't remember."

And then Clary was there.

Her hand was as light as a feather on his shoulder—her fingers pressing into his skin, delicate. But it was powerful enough to undo the knots twisting venomously through his body; strong enough to slow his stampeding heart. He could feel his tension draining away from him under her touch. And when she spoke, her voice was soft. Comforting. "It doesn't matter, Jace."

"I suppose not," he conceded faintly. And then he blinked down at the girl who could calm him like no one else ever could _—_ _You shouldn't be able to do that to me_ _ _—__ and he shook himself with a jerk. _Snap out of it._

Biting down on his cheek, Jace took quick strides across the room and away from Clary. Years of training and layers of dust kept his feet silent on the hard wood as he moved. _The cookbook._ He wanted to get the cookbook and then get the fuck out of there. Though, he still found it strange that it had been there that whole time. Jace remembered having come across it on several occasions, but he never thought to pull it out and actually look at it. He should have though. It wasn't like it was the most inconspicuous of book—so unlike any of the other books surrounding it. But Jocelyn was smart—even Jace had to admit that. And she definitely knew his father—her husband. _Your mother_ —Jace jerked the thought away violently as he knelt down to scan a lower book shelf. If his father ever saw the book there, he wouldn't have given it a second glance or thought. Not this book.

And then he saw it. The conspicuous nondescript book with its blue binding and fading silver stamped title. Snatching it, he bounced back to his feet. _"Simple Recipes for Housewives,"_ he turned to Clary. "Here it is."

Clary was next to him in seconds and he handed it to her, watching as she stared down at it with a mixture of wonder and excitement. Like it was something fragile. He would miss when that was someday gone—when nothing in the Shadow World surprised her anymore. And then he stared past her at the book as she opened it. Inside, the cookbook had been hollowed and another, smaller book had been placed carefully inside the contoured pages. A small book bound in white leather and Book of the White stamped across the front in gilded Latin.

Pulling the White book out carefully and tossing the cookbook aside, Clary flipped carefully through the thin pages before letting out a surprised, nearly inaudible, and frustrated groan. _What's wrong?_ Instead of asking, however, Jace followed her gaze and found the answer instantly. The books scrawling print was written in— "Greek," he finished out loud. And then he cocked his head thoughtfully as he studied the script. _Really old Greek._ It was hard to read, even for him. "Of the ancient variety."

"Can you read it?" Clary asked hopefully, looking up over her shoulder at him. He hated when she looked at him like that . . . especially knowing he might disappoint her. Frowning, Jace stared down at the book in her small delicate hands. He could make out some words, while others were completely foreign. But it was definitely Greek. Finally, he shook his head.

"Not easily," he exhaled, hating the way her shoulders slumped at his words. _Maybe at one time I could have, but . . ._ "It's been years." Not that that was any excuse. At least not one his father would put any stock in. As far as Valentine was concerned, there was no excuse for not continuing your studies, even after you've grown. And yet, Jace couldn't remember what day his Latin studies were, he couldn't remember his ancient Greek . . . what the fuck _could_ he do anymore? Irritated, his hand darted forward, relieving Clary of the book and snapping it shut. "But Magnus will be able to, I imagine," he said tightly, tucking the book into her jacket pocket. He didn't want to be here anymore. He wanted to be anywhere but here. Strange considering how much he had missed it at one time.

Turning away from her—more than ready to leave—he hesitated at one of the other bookshelves; the titles of books looking out at him as familiar as the name of life long friends. They had been his only friends at one time. _Demons and Angels; Jonathan Shadowhunter and the Angel Raziel; The Weapons of Angels; Weapons of Old;_ bibles of every religion . . . _the Shadowhunter Codex._ They were all still there. His father used to assign him chapters, but Jace read the books in their entirety several times before being given a new book to study. Slowly, he traced a finger along the spines of the books, marveling in the feel if their bindings _—_ of the cloth and leather that wrapped them. The feel of them had been familiar to him at one point in his life, like a second layer of skin. They had been his escape during the days that he had spent in bed, having been punished to the point of not being able to move. And they had kept him company on the nights that he had spent terrified and alone while his father was off on one of his trips. But not all the books here had been his friends. Some had been the source of much pain.

And almost unwillingly, Jace found himself looking up at the top shelf were the brown leather wrapped journals sat. His father's journals. And Jace wanted to chuck them as far away from himself and Clary as he could. But on another level, he couldn't help but to find it odd that they were still be there. He, better than anyone, knew how protective his father had been over them . . .

 _"Father?" Jonathan called out, entering the library. "Father, are you in here?"_

 _Moving further into the library, Jonathan peered around curiously. The light coming through the stained glass window casting blue and green squares on the hard wood floor, lighting the room with its cool hues. Jonathan liked the way the colors made the house feel warmer. Glancing around, he frowned, his small brow furrowing. He had been sure that his father had come in here, but now it would seem that he was wrong. He was just about to leave when his eyes fell upon a book sitting on one of the chaise lounges. It was open and lying face down and from where he was standing, Jonathan could see the brown leather that wrapped it. He knew immediately that it was one of the books his father had forbidden him to read. Not that he knew_ why _he wasn't allowed to read it. But he had never seen any of them lying open like that—they were always so carefully placed outside of his range on the restricted shelf. Taking a step forward, Jonathan knew that he should turn around and walk out, knew that just because it wasn't sitting on the restricted shelf didn't make it any less restricted. The amount of trouble he would be in if his father caught him . . . but that only stirred Jonathan's curiosity more. What was in these books that was so bad?_

 _Moving quickly, Jonathan peaked around the library door for any sign of his father before he shut it with a quiet click. And then he had the book snatched up and in his hands within seconds. Crouching down on the other side of the chaise lounge, out of sight, Jonathan began flipping through it—being careful to keep his father's page._

 _It wasn't a book. It was a journal. And even more to Jonathan's surprise, as his bright golden eyes scanned the pages, it was a journal about him. There was his name! Jonathan Christopher—Jonathan smiled. He didn't know he had a middle name. He liked it._

 _"Jonathan?"_

 _And Jonathan froze, his mind reeling at the familiar voice of his father coming from behind him. He hadn't heard him enter. Shooting up, he tucked the book quickly behind his back, hiding it. He could feel his body shaking, though he tried hard not to show it. Father didn't like it when he showed emotion._

 _But it was hard not to be frightened when he knew he was doing something he wasn't supposed to. Especially when his father was standing there, staring down at him with a stern set to his mouth and his black eyes shining with calm anger. The sun streaming through the window lit up his white blonde hair like a halo, but Jonathan did not think of his father as an angel. Not when he looked scary like that._

 _"What are you doing?" His father asked, his voice tight._

 _And Jonathan could not think of what to say. "I was—" his small voice cracked in the silence of the library. "I was looking for you."_

 _"What's in your hands?"_

 _At this, Jonathan's heart dropped but he said nothing. His father moved forward impatiently. "Jonathan—"_

 _"Is my middle name Christopher?" The words were blurted out of his mouth before he could stop them and his father froze. Slowly he turned to the empty spot where his book had sat and then back to Jonathan._

 _"Did you—do you—"_

 _Knowing he was caught, Jonathan slowly pulled the journal out from behind his back. "I—I didn't read much of it," he said quickly. "I'm sorry.  
_

 _His father said nothing as he took the book out of his hands, closing it with a loud snap. And Jonathan watched, panicked, as his father turned away from him and calmly set the book back down on the chaise lounge. Even with as young as he was, Jonathan was already very familiar with the tense set of his father shoulders . . . the subtle but angry jerk of his head._

 _"Not reading much of it_ _ _—_ " father said slowly, turning back around to face him. Jonathan accidentally bit down on the inside of his cheek in an effort to keep from whimpering as he watched his father unbuckle his belt. "_ _ _—i_ s not the same as not reading it at all." And with a swift smooth motion, his father pulled his belt from it's loops, taking a step toward Jonathan who's skin pricked with fear. He could taste blood in his mouth. "There are rules set in place for a reason, Jonathan. Broken ones will be punished."_

 _Swallowing, Jonathan took a step back._

"Are there any of these you want to take with you?"

The question startled Jace, pulling him gratefully back into the present. Glancing back at her, he watched as Clary began playing with her curls—her teeth worrying at her lower lip. "If you'd like—"

And then he looked back at the book that his finger rested on. Take the books? Was she serious? He let out a laugh. She _was_ serious; her voice gentle as she looked at him with those eyes that reminded him of one of the few good things he liked about living here. He could tell that she was sensing something in him—and he supposed he would have to get used to not being able to hide everything from her—but right now . . . whatever it was he was feeling, wasn't a longing for these books. Dropping his hand he shook his head. While they had been a welcome escape from reality at the time—they were now just a painful reminder of the fact that he once had to escape reality at all. _For reasons like that memory._ Besides, the idea of removing the books for any kind of prolonged amount of time just didn't seem right. They belonged there.

"I was only allowed to read what I was assigned," he said after awhile, biting the inside of his cheek hard. "Some of the shelves had books on them I wasn't even allowed to touch." At that, he gestured at the books above his head. The books that had brought with it a memory that he had long ago pushed down. _It would seem I pushed down a lot of those memories after you died, father._ But that's all they were now. Memories _._ Pieces of his past that he had kept hidden from the world. Looking at Clary, he sighed and shoved his hair out of his eyes. He may hide his feelings from her . . . but he would not hide his past. Not from her. "I read one of them once, when I was about six," he began slowly. "Just to see what the fuss was about. It turned out to be a journal my father was keeping. About me. Notes about _'my son, Jonathan Christopher.'"_ Jace swallowed. "He whipped me with a belt when he'd found out I read it." The words were out of his mouth quickly, and though he heard Clary's sharp intake of breath—she said nothing. But then Jace shrugged as if none of it mattered. As if his past wasn't burned into his memory _—_ the scars from the belt seared into his back. "Actually," he continued thoughtfully, "it was the first time I even knew I had a middle name." _But I did learn to hate it pretty quickly—_

"Well Valentine's not here now," Clary snapped suddenly, effectively cutting off his thought as she marched over to where he was standing. Her voice had been wrought with anger, surprising Jace and sending his blood coursing through his veins at a rapid pace. He felt warm—a feat in _this_ house. And then she reached up toward the restricted shelf—toward the journals that even now, Jace was terrified to touch.

"Clary . . ." he cautioned, though a part of him knew he was being absurd. He was older now, stronger. And she was right . . . Valentine _wasn't_ here. So why was he so— _what the shit!_ Clary had pushed herself to her toes, snagged one of the journals, and knocked it to the ground where it landed with a terrifyingly loud thunk. "Clary!" _If my father finds out!_ It was an irrational thought, but she didn't understand the punishments he had endured over those stupid journals. You could tell someone about your past, but you could never make them feel it like you did—feel what years of abuse disguised as love and lessons did to a child.

 _They made me stronger . . ._

Jace shook his head. _No. Not stronger—afraid._ Afraid to get close to anyone. Afraid to love. He hated the memories.

He hated this house.

But Clary only grinned—a wickedly evil and delicious grin—as she turned to look at him. Her green eyes were lit like emerald flames. "Oh, come on," she purred rebelliously as she flipped another book to the ground. And another. Dear God, she was sexy. But Jace only watched the growing pile with a sense of dread. But there was also something else—a sense of freedom in what she was doing . . . he looked up at her with shocked eyes. She was still smiling, her teeth biting coyly at her strawberry lip. "You try," she encouraged.

Chewing on his cheek, Jace looked up at the shelf and then back down to Clary with narrowed eyes. She knew. He didn't know how, but she knew what she was doing. And then he smiled a slow crooked smile as his stomach twisted with a sense of forbidden excitement. Could he do it? Could he wreck this piece of his past? Meeting Clary's bright emeralds with his golden ones, he saw in them her faith in him. They were his home, those eyes. _Not_ here. _Not_ this place where he had spent his childhood. _Not anymore_. Home was with Clary, wherever she was and in any way he could have her. Even if it could never be in the way he wanted her.

This house . . . these books . . . the abuse . . . the past . . .

He didn't want it.

Any of it!

With more force than he had meant to use, Jace swept his arm along the shelf and watched as the journals crashed to the floor at the same time that dust exploded upward. Jace laughed, his adrenaline pulsing and his body feeling freer than it had ever felt in the ten years he had lived here. And oh, how his father would be angry if he knew what his son was doing! Jace could already see, with blinding clarity, the look his father would be wearing. And the anger would be as gratifying as—

 _What was that?_

Jace cocked his head, listening for— _that!_ It sounded like the slow mechanical whirl of . . . something. _What the hell was that?_ It was something Jace had never heard before, while at the same time he found it oddly familiar. Like something out of a dream. He glanced questioningly at Clary, who had a smile frozen on her face. "Do you hear that?" he asked.

Before she could answer, the sound grew louder. More piercing. Like the screech of moving metal that had long since rusted shut. And Jace watched, his eyes wide, as the ground shuddered under his feet. Next to him, Clary moved back cautiously, her eyes darting from Jace to blank wall near the shelf. It was clear that she was asking him what was happening but he didn't know anymore than she did.

It didn't take them long to find out. With a loud groan, the wall— _the whole damn stone wall_ —slid back and to the side with a painful grinding rumble that shook the room, revealing a set of stairs that disappeared down into an even darker basement. Not even the witchlight could penetrate through it to show what lied below. Inching forward, Jace cast a astonished glance at Clary, whose expression matched his own. He was at a loss for words. In the ten years he had lived here . . . never had he— _when the fuck did my father add this?!_

And how was it that he had never known about it?

 _You'd think I'd remember a cellar,_ he thought dryly. And then he saw Clary staring at him curiously. He still had no answer for her. "I didn't remember there even being a cellar here," he said, answering her unasked question. He took another step toward the dark opening; a giant evil mouth waiting to consume them. And the stench! Jace scrunched his face. _Lovely, a giant evil mouth cave with halitosis._ Even a few steps back from the staircase, he could smell the sweet decay of death and mold and . . . something else. Something he didn't think he had encountered before. Which was saying something.

His hand was on his belt in a flash, resting on one of his seraph blades as he used the witchlight to chase back more of shadows below. Behind him, Clary spoke, her voice breathless and on edge; the earlier playful rebelliousness was gone. "What do you think could be down there?"

 _Knowing my father . . . quite literally anything._ But all he said was, "I don't know," as he moved toward the top of the step. He tested it with his foot, gauging the durability of it after years of disuse. It held easily enough and Jace shrugged. _Time to find out what other secrets you held, father,_ he thought as he began to make his way into the dark. He didn't make it far before he realized he was alone. Turning, he saw Clary watching him from the top of the stairs. The witchlight in his hand cast her in sharp shadows, but he could tell from the way she was fidgeting that she was nervous. "Are you coming?" he called up to her softly. But she didn't move. He supposed he understood—even Clary, who he was pretty sure feared very little—had her limits. So he switched tracks. "You can wait up here for me if you want to."

He would be quick _ _—__ dash down, take a quick look around, dash back up _._ As if hearing his thoughts, Clary was behind him within seconds and Jace thanked the darkness for hiding his face as he fought and lost against a smile. Neither of them spoke as he led their way down the spiraled staircase. An honest to God spiral staircase. _I know you're supposed to be the bad guy and all, father . . . but for the Angels sake!_ Between the hidden rooms, the spiral staircase, and Valentine's overall evil demeanor, all his father was missing was some long lost hidden secret—that twist in the plot line. _Not that finding out the girl I'm in love with is my sister wasn't already enough of a plot twist._ Jace wondered if his father got it all from some book somewhere: _How To Be An Evil Master Mind And Make Everyone Hate You With The Passion Of The Fiery Sun._

 _Chapter One: Spiral Staircase's._

Reaching the bottom, Jace took a sharp breath as the light pushed back the shadows in front of him, though it didn't reach the back of the room. The space was square, the walls made of the same familiar stone as the rest of the house but much dirtier. Moss clung to the water-damaged areas nearby and the strong smell of mold clung to the air. He was aware of Clary standing next to him, her eyes taking in the same dirty stone floor; the pentagrams and runes carved and burned and drawn into different parts of it. Jace could smell blood. Nearby there were tables full of several suspicious and grotesque looking objects and Jace's stomach twisted with disgust as he moved forward to investigate. A loud crunch from under his boot stalled him. Next to him, Clary jumped as they both looked down.

The floor was strewn with— "Bone's" Clary breathed in horror. And she was right. They were scattered all over, some of them human looking. Jace squinted; that was definitely half a hip bone. He didn't want to know where the other half was. "What was he _doing_ down here?" Clary asked in a low and terrified voice as she took in what could only be described as a battlefield. A battlefield where Valentine was the only winner. And then Jace remembered back to the Court of the Seelie Queen . . . remembered what she had said about his father—what she had called Jace and Clary.

"Experiments," he whispered, his voice as taught as stretched wire as he looked around. That's what the Seelie Queen had called them. His heart pounded with tense anger, his skin prickling and on edge. And now, seeing this, there was no doubt in Jace's mind that that's what his father had continued to do _after_ them. He turned to look at Clary. "The Seelie Queen said—"

"What kind of bones are these?" Clary interrupted breathlessly, looking down in disgusted horror. She looked like she was going to be sick. Or maybe she just didn't want to relive when they had been inside the faerie court. "Are they animal bones?"

Shaking his head, Jace looked back down at the scene out of a horror movie _—yep, definitely an R rating—_ and kicked at the hip bone that had been sawed in half, sending it (and several others) scattering. "No," he said honestly. "Not all of them."

Clary took a nervous step toward the stairs. "I think we should go back."

Biting the inside of his cheek, Jace watched Clary stopped and waited for him. He would not make her stay down here if she didn't want to, but he also knew that she wouldn't go unless he did. Sighing, he raised his witchlight, squeezing it into a blinding brightness. He was determined to get as much of a view of the room as he could before they left. He had to know what his father had been trying to do here—what other experiments he had been conducting. _Weren't your children enough?_ Jace wondered with a surprising amount of hatred before casting a quick glance around the room, trying to commit every piece of detail to memory. In front of him, the dark shadows had been pushed back under the glaring gleam of the rune-stone, the back wall lighting up. The room was more depressing than he had realized. The tables full of used and unused syringes, cylinders, beakers, and substances Jace wasn't sure he wanted to know. His eyes had just moved toward the back of the room when Clary seized up next him, her hand shooting out to take his arm as if for support. Her palm was hot against his skin.

"Jace," she breathed in shock. "What _is_ that?"

And Jace, his brow furrowing as he followed her line of sight, found a pile of . . . something . . . under a similar sheet that rested over the furniture upstairs. But whatever was under the sheet here, was human in shape. And it was moving. _N_ _ope_.

With the speed of lightning shooting through the sky, Jace removed his seraph blade and breathed it's name, _"Ithuriel."_ It lit up the dank torture chamber, for that's what it was. Next to him, he heard the surprised gasp in Clary's voice and turned to see her blinking into the glow of his angel knife.

"Jace—" she hissed cautiously, her head giving a minute shake as he stepped toward the covered thing. _"—don't."_

He hesitated. Don't _what?_ He wasn't even sure what he was going to do yet. At least, he hadn't been sure at the time that he had unsheathed his blade, anyway. But now, Jace stood in front of whatever his father had hidden down there, his body tensed and ready to explode into action as his adrenaline raced through his system. His hand moved of its own accord as, with the tip of his blade, he flicked the cover aside and— _Oh God._

A man—no, not a man—sat there, his tortured face of terrible beauty and horror looking up at Jace from eyeless sockets. He was bound in chains that were attached to the ground, runes etched into the metal. Runes that spoke of binding and imprisonment. And draped protectively around his scarred and emaciated body were delicate wing. _Wings._ The thought reverberated shockingly through Jace, sending him stumbling back in shock and horror.

 _By the Angel . . ._

He felt dizzy.

 _This . . . this couldn't be . . ._

And then waves of nausea began slamming into him.

 _No, no, no . . ._

But he couldn't unsee it. It was real. It was so very real.

 _What have you done, father . . ._

Jace forced himself to look back down at the man but not man on the floor with an ache of terrible sadness that reached down into the marrow of his bones. He knew . . . he knew with unyielding certainty that he was an angel. A real angel. _But how . . . how was this possible?!_ Jace could feel his legs shaking as he backed into a table. Throughout his life, he had heard about angels. Studied them. He knew it was how the Nephilim were created—knew it was angel blood that ran through his veins. And he knew all too well the stories. But they had always seemed like an enigma—something outside of reach. There but not there. No one saw angels. And those that did were either lying or long since dead.

The angel only watched him, his black pitted face turning to the side as if regarding Jace.

And then there was the fact that this place had been empty for at least seven years. How long had the angel been there?! And what kind of torture had it endured? Jace dug his fingers into the wood of the table, gripping it hard and feeling the bite of splinters under his chewed nails. _A long time. Before you._ Jace winced at the thought, knowing it was true but unsure if the thought had been his own. _Think!_ Had he seen this room before? Had he heard the sound of the wall opening? He had thought it had sounded familiar before, but no . . . there was nothing. This was not a memory he had pushed down and forgotten. Jace honestly had not known of this room or of the angel bound and suffering below his feet as he grew up. _I am so sorry._ This was surely a crime punishable by anyone with a sense of decency! Jace had never been able to say that he hated his father, but he hated his father for this. His body flared with rage as his eyes traveled from the emaciated face to the desecrated wings that were still the purest things in this room, before resting on the manacles that held it prisoner there by its wrist and ankles. He was beautiful and terrifying. He was in pain. It was evident from the deep scars in his dirty golden skin that Valentine had tortured him. But how—when? And what kind of person did you have to be to capture and torture an angel? _How powerful . . ._ Jace bit down, shaking the thought from his head.

Nearby the witchstone shined brightly in Clary's hand—he didn't remember giving it to her—as she moved toward the angel. She gasped upon seeing it, taking a hurried step back till she was standing next to Jace.

 _"Jace,"_ she breathed, her emerald eyes wide and sparkling in the witchlight. "Do you see—"

"I see," he said wretchedly, his voice shattering as it all caught up with him. Learning that Clary was his sister, that his mother was alive and had cried over him, that his father was alive and more of a monster than he could have possibly thought, and now this . . . _I am so sorry . . . I am so, so sorry. I can't—my father—I fucking hate him. I know that's supposed to be a sin, but I hate him so much._ Somewhere next to him, Jace was aware that Clary was talking but had not heard what she was saying. He was busy staring at the angel—the beautiful creature who had spent years being tortured and many more being forgotten. _There has to be something I can do . . . there has to be something!_

Jace moved forward as quickly as a frenzied tornado, determined to free the angel from it's bindings, but once again found himself stumbling backward. This time it felt as if an invisible hand had shoved him. Blinking, he caught the pentagram of runes around the angel glowing softly just as Clary took a breath.

"The runes," she exhaled, pointing. "We can't get past—"

"But there must be something—" Jace shook his head as he heard the desperation in his tone. "—something we can do." _We have to!_ It felt like a hand was mercilessly squeezing his heart the longer he did nothing. Moving toward the angel again, his eyes took in the runes with tactical accuracy. There had to be something they could do to free it . . . _something_. Didn't she realize that, he thought miserably? There had to be away to get around the runes and set the angel free! He felt panicked, like his body would surely explode if he continued to do nothing. They couldn't leave the angel here to suffer. Not now. Not after what his father had done.

Jace looked back at Clary desperately, but she was busy staring wide eyed at the angel; her Idris emeralds glued to the black pits that the angel had regarded Jace with. Jace could only imagine how beautiful the angels eyes might have once been. With a numbing jolt, Jace saw that the angel's dirty blonde hair had the same light curls that Clary's had. Somehow, that made all this worse. And then the angel opened his mouth and music so pure and so full of sadness and pain came out, breaking Jace's heart. No, not breaking it. Shattering it.

It was the last thing Jace heard before a shade was pulled over his eyes, like a screen with a movie reel. He was still in the basement—still with Clary and the angel—and yet, he wasn't. Jace was not prepared for the onslaught of images that followed . . .

 _Valentine, much younger than Jace had ever seen him before, was standing in a much cleaner wine cellar. It was not unlike the one they stood in now, but it was not the same. Jace was sure. Valentine was standing with his back to him, whispering something Jace couldn't hear over a large rune that had been etched into the floor. He held a book in one hand and a flaming torch in the other. Jace gasped upon seeing his father. He couldn't help it. But his father didn't move. He couldn't hear his him. Crossing his arms, Jace watched stoically—his heart clenching—as flames burst from the rune with a loud crack, bathing the room in its bright glow and sending his father's shadow stretching along the ground like something out of a nightmare. And when the fire vanished in a whip of smoke, it left behind an angel; bloody, broken, it's golden hair ribboned with golden blood and it pearlescent wings splayed out and despoiled as it looked up from the ground with eyes of a shimmering sunrise. Jace's heart skittered as his body and mind were overcome with the overwhelming sense that the angel could see him standing there behind his father._

 _._

 _Jace's father was pacing in front of a window, Jocelyn standing next to him in a long white nightgown. They were both still young and in that moment, Jace could see why people said Clary looked just like her mother. They were close to the same height, same green eyes, and same stubborn set to their chins. Jocelyn was also very pregnant—with Jace. Jace's heart slammed painfully in his chest at the realization just as his father spoke._

 _"The Accords were not just the worst idea the Clave has ever had, but the worst thing that could happen to the Nephilim," he growled, the anger all too familiar to Jace. "That we should be bound to Downworlders, tied to those creatures—"_

 _"Valentine," Jocelyn sighed with a light smile, cutting him off as she rested her hand over her swollen belly. Jace instinctually flinched backward, knowing from experience how much his father hated being interrupted. But this Valentine didn't get angry. This Valentine only smiled down at his wife as she traced her hands up his chest and gripped his neck, his body visibly relaxing under her touch much like Jace's did when Clary touched him. "Enough about politics," she commanded gently._ "Please."

 _Wrapping his arms around his wife, Valentine's eyes shined with both love and something darker. Something much more sinister._

 _._

 _It was dark out . . . well past midnight. The moon was shining brightly above the earth, sending both soft rays of light and shadows blowing along the ground of the forest clearing Jace stood in. Valentine was there, kneeling next to a pentagram. Inside the five point star, a woman much more frightening than the angel had been, sat staring down at his father. Definitely a Greater Demon, though Jace could not see her face hidden in the shadows. Only her slender grey body, and the dark hair that fell over her shoulders. She held her arm out, her wrist slashed open and her jet-black blood pouring freely from the wound into a silver chalice below._

 _And then the demon spoke, her voice much smoother and silkier than Jace was prepared for. "The child born with this blood in him, will exceed in power the Greater Demons of the Abysses between the worlds. He will be more powerful than Asmodei, stronger than the_ shedim _of the storms. If he is properly trained, there is nothing he will not do be able to do." And then the demon cocked her head thoughtfully. "Though I warn you, it will burn out his humanity, as poison burns the life from the blood."_

 _Valentine looked up, his white blond hair shimmering in the moonlight. "My thanks to you, Lady of Edom."_

 _And Jace felt a stab of unbridled fear slice into his heart at the same moment that his father rose to take the cup of blood from the demon_ _ _—_ Lady of Edom. Lilith. And as if hearing Jace's thought, the demon woman leaned forward into the glow of the moon, revealing a face of terrifying beauty but black eyeless pits like the angels were now. Only inside these eyes, small slender tentacles probed grotesquely at the night time air._

 _._

J _ocelyn was pacing, her hair twisting in wild tangles with each spin. She was no longer pregnant and she was no longer smiling in that way that love could make you do. She looked sick and pale. She looked terrified. "I can't stay with him, Ragnor, not for another day," she said wretchedly, and Jace's eyes snapped to the warlock standing in the corner. He had a greenish hue to his skin and small horns curling from his temples. His hair was as white as snow. Jocelyn stopped abruptly, staring at the warlock in desperation. "I read his book. Do you know what he did to Jonathan?" Jace's breath caught in his throat at hearing her speak his name, his heart constricting painfully in his chest. "I didn't think even Valentine could do that." And then her shoulders shuddered as tears fell from her eyes. "He used demon blood," she whispered with cruel heartbreak. "Jonathan's not a baby anymore—" Jace shook his head. He didn't want to hear this. "—he's isn't even human—" Jace thought of Lilith and tasted blood in his mouth. "He's a monster."_

I don't want to see this!

.

 _They were back inside the wine cellar and Jace's stomach plummeted as his eyes fell on the angel, still imprisoned inside the rune, thrashing painfully on the ground. His wings oozed with golden blood, some of them snapped and twisted at awkward angles. His body was battered and torn. Valentine was pacing around him, a seraph blade twirling incessantly in his hand._

 _"Why won't you_ speak?" _Valentine demanded, abandoning himself to his rage as Jace had seen him do many times. "Why wont you_ give me what I want?" _And with the speed of a Shadowhunter, Valentine drove the blade down over and over and over again into the angel. Jace felt like it was him being stabbed; hated knowing he could do nothing to stop the long since past memory. "If you wont give me answers," his father snarled then, "you can give me your blood. It will do me and mine more good than it will you."_

 _And once again, the angel raised it's head leaving Jace with the impression that he was being seen despite the fact that he wasn't actually there._

 _._

 _Jocelyn was standing in the library of Jace's childhood home. But it was different somehow. Warmer than it had ever been during the time he had lived there. And Jace realized with a painful thud that it must have been back when it still belonged to the real Michael Wayland. Stealing forward silently, Jocelyn knelt in front of one of the book cases as laughter and talking and music drifted on behind her. There was obviously a party going on somewhere in the house—a notion that was both strange and bewildering to Jace. From the folds of her clothes, Jocelyn removed a book with a soft blue binding and gold letters stamped on it. With one last glance around, she slipped it onto the shelf._

 _._

 _They were now back in the hidden cellar, though still not in present time. Jace's father was there, older; this was a more recent memory. Valentine was once again holding a seraph blade. "Ithuriel," Valentine breathed out in a forced calm that in its own way was more terrifying than his rage. "We are old friends, now aren't we? I could have left you buried alive under those ruins, but no, I brought you here with me. All these years I've kept you close, hoping one day you would tell me what I wanted—_ needed _—to know." His father took a step toward the bound and tortured angel who only sat there, saying nothing. He was missing his eyes now—eyes that Jace now knew had once burned with golden molten lava. "When I summoned you, I dreamed that you would tell me_ why. _Why Raziel created us, his race of Shadowhunters, yet did not give us the powers Downworlders have—the speed of the wolves, the endurance of the vampires. He left us naked before the hosts of hell but for these painted lines on our skin. Why should their powers be greater than ours? Why can't we share in what they have? How is that just?"_

 _But the angel, even after evident years of agonizing abuse, still said nothing to Valentine. Nor would he. Not ever. And it seemed Jace's father knew that, too. "Very well," Valentine said with a twisted smile and rage burning in his eyes. "Keep your silence. I will have my chance." And he lifted the blade, pointing it at where angels heart was hidden beneath the once glorious wings. "I have the Mortal Cup, Ithuriel—" a_ very _recent memory, "—and soon I shall have the Sword—but without the Mirror I cannot begin the summoning. The Mirror is all I need. Tell me where it is. Tell me where it is Ithuriel, and I will let you die."_

 _._

And then the world came apart in fragments as nightmares of long since past slammed into Jace. He could still see Lilith, sitting so regally as she poured her blood into the silver cup. _The blood my father used on me._ He was a monster. He was—he had demon blood in him. So that was why Jace could do the things he could. That's how he had become an experiment. And Clary . . .

 _Clary._

Had she seen what he had? He turned to look at her, biting down hard to keep his horror off his face, but she was staring at the angel, ferociously trying to blink back tears. She was failing. She had seen. She knew the truth about them. About Jace. _She knows now that I'm a monster . . . I'm what I swore to protect others from._

 _"Ithuriel,"_ Clary's voice shattered as she moved forward, but stopped where the invisible barrier held just outside the rune'd prison. Jace moved forward too, wanting to comfort her but unsure if he knew how. He was lost.

He felt . . . hollow.

But then Clary's eyes met his—the only real thing right now. The only thing that mattered to him. _Demon blood._ He was allowed to be jealous. He was allowed to be selfish. It's what demons were, wasn't it—greedy, selfish creatures? But Clary was hurting. And that hurt him. That was real—the angel was real.

 _You are real._

The sound was the most beautifully tragic music Jace had ever heard ringing through his head, and he looked down at the blade in his hand.

 _I . . . I don't know what I am._

 _I have shown you._

Jace bit the inside of his cheek. He remembered only too well what he had been shown. The silver chalice flashing in the moonlight, filled with the blood of the Lady of Edom. _My blood_ —

 _Is important._

Jace looked back up wretchedly. He didn't believe that. He might have once. But . . . not anymore. How could he? He was a monster. An experiment. He carried demon blood within his veins. All he had ever been was an instrument of war to be used by Valentine, and now . . . Shaking his head with an infinitesimal jerk, Jace took another step forward. _"Ithuriel,"_ he breathed both to the angel and the blade in his hand. The blade burst with light more blinding than Jace had ever seen, and the angel turned toward the blaze as if seeing it from the dark pits of its weather scarred face—feeling the warmth of heaven after having been in hell for far too long. _You're suffering,_ Jace thought miserably. _You have suffered a long time. I am sorry for that._

 _It will end soon._

And Ithuriel sounded almost happy; or maybe it was relief. But the angel raised his hands, the chains of his manacles clanging sharply as he reached for the light—asking without words for the blade that could free him. But the rune he was bound to . . . there was nothing—Jace turned to Clary. She was watching him, the tears having sliced paths through the dust that had clung to her cheeks. Her emerald eyes sparkled in the light of the blade and as his gaze traveled down, he saw his stele sticking out of her pocket. She was an artist with that stele just as she was an artist on canvas. Jace had the gift of speed and strength—the powers of demons —but Clary, she had the gift of the heavens. She had angel blood, Ithuriel's blood, running through her. If anyone could free the angel, it was her.

"Clary," he breathed. "The runes."

Clary's brow furrowed at his words, and he turned to look pointedly at the manacles that had runes etched into them and the pentagram that held the angel. And it wasn't long before Clary's look of confusion turned into one of understanding. Moving forward, she held the witchlight out for Jace, who took it without at word and watched as she pulled out his stele.

 _You can do this._ He knew she could. Clary, she was the only thing he was sure of anymore. Clary, who was his sister. The thought didn't hurt as much this time. From the ground where Clary was now kneeling, she looked back over her shoulder at him, and Jace felt a surge of protectiveness and faith and love so profoundly deep. Madam Dorothea had once told him that he would fall in love with the wrong person. And she had been right. But now he knew why. Now he understood it. Demons didn't love . . . but a human, Shadowhunter, demon hybrid? Perhaps they could fall in love—he refused to believe that what he felt for Clary was anything else—but maybe their punishment was to fall in love with someone they couldn't have. Someone they shouldn't want.

And then Clary set to work on the runes and Jace watched as they begin to transform, speaking of freedom and openness. With a shudder, whatever barrier that had been there shattered and Clary stood just as Jace moved by her side again. They both looked at the angel with sorrow and grief, knowing what was coming. And this time, when Jace raised the blade—the angel was able to take it.

 _Thank you._

The words were musical. They spoke of more than just a simple thanks, but of long overdue freedom, relief, and exhaustion. Jace didn't know angels could even get exhausted. Together, with nothing but their arms touching, they watched as Ithruiel raised the angel blade, pressing the sharp tip into his slender chest—he almost looked like he was smiling—before slamming the blade down hard, burying it to the hilt.

And the angel dropped, his body slumping to the floor as fire burst from the wound in his chest. Jace felt Clary seize up next to him, but he couldn't look away. The fire—the angel—it was beautiful. It tore out his heart. And then without warning, Ithuriel's wings shot out wide—spanning to their full glory of terrifying brilliance, before they, too, were consumed by the holy fire pouring from his chest.

Clary pressed into Jace's side, burying her face in his shoulder. Numbly, he wrapped his arm around her. Held her close to him. "It's all right," he lied. This would never be all right— _he_ would never be all right. But demons could lie. He pressed his cheek to her hair. Comforted her as best he could. "It's all right," he crooned, turning to hide the terrible sight from her. But he didn't look away. He couldn't. Jace held Clary to him, watching as the angel burned until they were left in the darkness once more; surrounded by the acrid smoke. He held Clary after there was nothing left.

And he held her when the ground began to shudder.

 _Wait, what—?_ For one crazy second, Jace thought it was an earthquake, but Idris didn't have earthquakes! It was the house! A particularly nasty lurch sent him stumbling and Clary let go of him with wide eyes as she tried to find her own balance. Around them, the walls were vibrating as dirt and rocks began to rain down from the ceiling, the contents of the tables rattling like chimes in a windstorm.

Adjusting his weight, Jace spun frantically toward Clary—relying heavily on his rune of sure-footedness to keep him upright. It wasn't easy, and he continued to stumble a bit. What was happening? In front of him, Clary was staring intently at the runes of the five-point star, almost as if she were studying them. And then her eyes flew wide, her gaze darting like a rapidly fired arrow to Jace. She looked terrified. "The manor," she began, her teeth chattering under the force of the quake. "It was tied to Ithuriel." _Shit._ He darted forward. "If the angel dies, the manor—"

Jace was already clapping his hand into Clary's and dragging her toward the stairs before she could finish her sentence. His skin was crawling. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears; feel the adrenaline in his veins like pin needles as he surged up the bucking and bowing stairs. Clary was stumbling behind him, and each stagger sent his heart skittering. He would _not_ lose her here. He would _not_ let her go. He _would_ get her out. Near the head of the stairs, Clary cried out in pain and every fiber of Jace's being burned to stop and check on her— _I could carry her._ But even the time it would take to do that was not time they could afford. And so he pulled her on, exploding from the basement with fire in his lungs as he breathed in the smoke and dust.

The library was already wrecked. Books littered the floor where they had fallen from their shelves; statues laid broken amongst the shattered marble they were made of. From somewhere down below, the house began to groan. They weren't going to make it to the front door, Jace realized with dismay. There was no way. _Think!_ He would not let Clary die here. _Not her_. And his eyes narrowed as they fell on the chair near the checkerboard window. Within seconds, that same chair went flying through the glass, shattering it into shimmering shards. Spinning, Jace reached out his hand for Clary, whose eyes went wide at the sight of the night sky behind him. But before he could do more, he watched as one of the marble busts dislodge itself and start to fall. And Clary was right in its path. _No—_

 _"Clary!"_ He screamed out in terror, capturing his Idris eyes. _"Watch—"_

She looked up and darted away just as the bust hit the ground, embedding itself into the wood floor with a sharp crack. Jace's teeth came down hard on his cheek. That could have been Clary . . . that could have been . . .

 _No._

Moving forward quickly, he swept her off her feet, cradling her against his body where she would always fit perfectly, before tossing her unceremoniously from the window. He watched with relief as she thumped and rolled down the hill, gaining speed as she went. Without a second thought, Jace flung himself after her, tucking his legs in and controlling his fall down the steep slope.

The ground was both hard and soft under him as he bounded down the hill. At the bottom, he landed in a crouch next to Clary, his eyes darting up to the manor that sat stark against the night sky. Below him, even here, he could feel the earth rumbling. It was going to blow.

And everything slowed down.

Jace's head snapped to Clary, who was just starting to turn and look up at the house. They were still too close. They were inside the blast radius. And he was scared . . . he was so damn scared. Exploding forward and rolling on top of her, Jace gripped her upper arms hard and shoved her down. He could feel as he pressed every part of him into her—trying to stretch enough to cover all of her, and hoping that it would be enough to protect her just as the house flew apart with a deafening and vicious roar. Beneath him, Clary jumped at the explosion, her fingers tangling in his jacket with the shock of it. _Please don't get hurt . . . please don't get hurt._ The words repeated themselves, and Jace tightened his grip on her, trying desperately to tuck her in under him as he shielded her with his body. And then came the slapping noise all around them of debris hitting the ground—hitting him, ripping into his clothes. But he barely felt it. He only felt Clary under him. _Please don't get hurt. Please be safe._

It was some time before the roar died down, but the ashes from the decimated house continued to fall. Jace kept Clary protected under him the whole time. Even now, he was scared to let her go. Terrified of some kind of aftershock. He could hear his heart pounding with hers as her chest rose and fell rapidly against his. And he could smell her skin, the lavender and the sweat and dust and fire mixed with the night air and the damp earth. On some level Jace was aware of the fact that he had just lost his childhood home, but he didn't care. Not when Clary had been so close to. _I can't lose you. Not you._

"Jace," Clary spoke softly, her hot breath tickling his ear. "I think I dropped your stele somewhere."

He nearly laughed at that. Leave it to his Clary to be worried about something like a stele when she should be more worried about being crushed by falling debris—not that it was falling anymore. Pushing himself back slightly, Jace propped himself up on his elbows and stared down intently at her. She looked worse for wear, but otherwise unharmed. Her emerald eyes were shining up at him, reflecting the moonlight. _Don't you understand?_ Jace shook his head. "That's all right," he said softly, his heart aching as he took in her ruby curls fanned around her head. But then he frowned. What if she needed a healing rune? "As long as you're not hurt," he amended. He would search every square inch of the wreckage to find that stele if she was hurt.

But Clary gave a thin wisp of a smile and shook her head. "I'm fine." And then she reached up and brushed his hair back as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to do. As if she did it everyday. Her fingers were like hot silk on his face and it sent his body erupting like a volcano. He tensed up, his heart slamming against his chest as if it were desperate to get to the girl it belonged to. The girl it shouldn't belong to. It was torturous, this need to be near her . . . to want her . . .

And below him, Clary froze as well, her emerald eyes nervous. "There was grass in your hair," she said quickly. Like she needed the excuse to touch him. _Because she's your sister._ But her fingers continued stroking back his hair, causing his eyelids to flutter under her touch. Jace didn't need excuses. He had never needed them. He had only ever wanted her. And now he knew why. He understood now how he could so easily want something he shouldn't; for that was the nature of the demon—to want and desire, regardless of who it affected. But that wasn't completely true in Jace's case. He _did_ care about what Clary thought—painfully so.

But here? Now? He didn't know if he would be able to contain himself. After everything that had happened—after learning what he was, after hearing what their mother had called him . . . he couldn't. He was just far too wound up. He didn't think he would be able to control himself. And even worse, Jace was far too conscious of her body pressed under his weight.

"You shouldn't touch me," he breathed, his eyes intense as he looked down at Clary. His elbows were digging into the earth on either side of her, and her hand lay frozen on his face. It would be so easy to turn his lips against her palm.

"Why not?" She sounded hurt and Jace bit down.

 _Why not? Because I love you. Because I can't touch you without wanting to do more. Always more. And I shouldn't want you because you're my sister, but I don't care. I've never cared. I should. I know I should. But now I know why. And I know you do, too. Ithuriel showed you._ But he said none of this. Instead he took a slow breath before simply saying, "You know why," and then rolled off her and onto his back in the debris strewn grass. He needed to put space between them. He had to. Looking up at the night sky, Jace chewed on his cheek as he watched the ashes that were still continuing to drift lazily around them. "You saw what I saw, didn't you? The past, the angel," he swallowed hard. "Our parents."

"I saw."

Her words were spoken like a breath on the wind, but they cut like a knife. Jace felt his heart hitch. "Then you know what I am," he whispered miserably, his fists clenching in anger as he turned his head to look at her. "I'm part demon, Clary," he said. Jace could see Lilith sitting there. A Greater Demon— _Lady of Edom._ "Part demon. You understood that much didn't you?" And now he was angry, the rage toiling inside him like a storm brewing at sea. He was angry at his father, angry at Lilith, and angry at himself. "You saw what Valentine was trying to do. He used Demon blood—used it on me before I was even born—" Jace felt nauseous as he visualized Valentine slipping Lilith's blood into Jocelyn's food and drink while she carried him—knowing something was wrong with her, but not understanding what. Or what was growing inside her at that point. Jace jerked his head irritably. But for all his anger, his next words were spoken in an agonizing whisper. "I'm part monster. I'm part everything I've tried so hard to burn out, to destroy."

Jace could see Clary's pulse pounding in her throat as she shook her head. "But warlocks are part demon," she said, trying to sound logical. Trying to comfort him. "Like Magnus. It doesn't make them evil—"

 _"Not_ part Greater Demon," Jace pushed his hair back. "You heard what the demon woman said." And he knew from the look on her face, that Clary had not only heard it, but might have been hearing it on repeat like he was. _I'm not good, Clary. I wanted to be, but . . ._

"It's not true," Clary said suddenly. Ferociously. Like she could make it less true if she refused to believe it. "It can't be. It doesn't make sense—"

"But it does," Jace cut her off with desperation. Did she really not see just how much sense it actually made? "It explains _everything."_

Clary's eyes narrowed. "You mean it explains why you're such an amazing Shadowhunter?" _No._ "Why you're loyal and fearless and honest—" _No, Clary._ Jace closed his eyes. He felt like he was being crushed. "—and everything demons aren't?"

 _NO._

Jace bit down hard on his cheek, fighting the urge to scream. _Because I am . . . I am JUST like a demon. I wish I weren't . . . I do. I would give anything not to be in love with you—_ he cut off the thought abruptly. It was a lie. He knew with all his heart that it was a lie. He wanted her. He wanted her more than anything. And the fact that he couldn't have her was like a wound that never healed, reopening every time he saw her. But he endured it. He would always endure it. Opening his eyes, Jace looked at Clary.

"It explains," his voice was steadier than he felt, "why I feel the way I do about you."

Clary froze, blinking slowly. "What do you mean?"

Her eyes were bright and unsure as she looked at him. But his were steady. Jace wasn't going to lie anymore. He was tired of lying. He was tired of pretending. Since learning the truth about who they really were to one another, how many times had he tried to make it clear to her that he didn't care? And how many times had she pulled away only to be thrust back into his arms? It had been _his_ kiss that she had wanted to set her free when she had been imprisoned. He should have been appalled. Any normal brother would have been. But instead, Jace had been grateful to the Seelie Queen for the boon she had gifted him. And later, he would beg Clary to be with him. To be willing to hide their love. _I love Simon like I should love you, and I wish he was my brother and you weren't._ Jace remembered it all. He lived for those moments, longed for them. He dreamed at night of tracing his fingers across her skin and kissing every inch of her—

"You're my sister." His voice was tight, his chest constricting as heat exploded in his stomach. "My sister, my blood, my family. I should want to protect you—" _from me._ And the thought startled a breathless huff of laughter out of him. Jace shook his head. "—to protect you from the sort of boys who want to do with you exactly what I want to do."

Clary's beautiful mouth popped open in shock at his words. "You said you just wanted to be my brother."

"I lied," he admitted without hesitating, unable to take his eyes off her. Even though they weren't touching, he could feel her heat coming from the small space between them. She looked betrayed almost. But surely she would understand. "Demon's lie, Clary. You know, there are some kinds of wounds you can get when you're a Shadowhunter—internal injuries from demon poison. You don't even know what's wrong with you, but you're bleeding to death slowly inside." Jace took a breath, his golden eye pleading with her to understand. _"That's_ what it's like, just being your brother."

"But, Aline—"

"I had to try," he sighed. "And I did." _And I hate myself for it._ He hated even more that it was Clary who had been the one to get hurt by it. _I would do anything to change that._ "But God knows, I don't want anyone but you." _I never will._ "I don't even want to want anyone but you." The space was too much and he was too selfish. She had said nothing to indicate that she felt the same—and yet he didn't care. The need to touch her was killing him. An ache that burrowed down deep into his bones. With his heart pounding like a jack hammer and his body jolted with adrenaline and desire and despair, Jace reached out his hand and ran it softly through her hair before trailing it down her freckled cheek. He knew it was considered wrong and disgusting, and just genuinely frowned upon by most everyone. But he _just_ _didn't care._ "Now at least I know why."

Clary was silent, staring at him like she couldn't believe what she was hearing. He wished she would say something. Anything. Send him away again if she must!

She exhaled. "I don't want anyone but you, either."

Those words—nervous and soft and full of longing—set Jace's body on fire. Had he heard her right? Was that even possible? Could he possibly dare to hope—was he really _that_ selfish? _Yes._ When it came to Clary, the answer would always be yes. Pushing himself up on his elbow, Jace's fingers slipped to her jawline as he looked down at her, his heart exploding with warmth. Beautiful Clary. _My Clary._ She was watching him, her pulse pounding in her throat, her eyes bright as she gazed up at him with just as much intensity; like she was mapping his face, committing every detail of it to memory. Would she maybe draw him, someday? _I could be an excellent muse._ The thought was a deliciously exciting one.

And then Jace traced his calloused finger down to her chin and up to her lips where they opened under his touch. They were like satin, and he couldn't stop himself from tracing the shape of her mouth. Clary's eyes fluttered and Jace smiled. "You should probably," he swallowed, "tell me to stop doing this."

He waited with bated breath. If she told him to stop, he would. Though, he _really_ hoped she wouldn't. He could feel the heat of Clary's breath on his finger, race up his hand and down his arm where it exploded from the middle of his body. She said nothing. And when Jace looked at her questioningly, her eyes were steady and clear—an open book. She wasn't going to stop him. His body began to tremble. She was allowing it.

Leaning forward, Jace brushed his lips lightly along the silken skin of her cheek, tickling her ear with his breath. He would give her another chance to back out. "If you want me to stop, tell me now." But his heart felt differently than the words he spoke. _Tell me you love me. I want to hear you say that you want me, again._ And Jace traced his lips across her temple. "Or now," he breathed, every part of him filled with her as her eyes fluttered shut. He hated that he wanted this, hated that it was because of who he was that he couldn't be a better brother to her. But he couldn't help it. He had fallen in love with her before they knew. He had already given himself to her so completely. And he grazed his lips across her cheekbone. "Or now." He brought his mouth down, sweeping her lips lightly, and Clary let out the smallest of gasps. And yet it was enough to send shockwaves jolting through him. His heart flipped. "Or—"

Clary's arms were around his neck, pulling his mouth against hers once more. But Jace held back, trying hard to kiss her gently. He wanted to show her that he could be gentle—that he could be deserving of an angel. He was careful as he cupped her face in his palm, tasting her. He missed the taste of her. And the time he had spent away from her was catching up with him. The days he had spent living in heartbreak, wanting nothing more than to touch her . . . it was overwhelming; gnawing savagely on his insides with frenzied desperation. It was taking everything Jace had not to push her harder, kiss her deeper—which was why he was both shocked, and so completely grateful, when Clary knotted her fists roughly into his jacket and desperately pulled him down on top of her. She was crushing herself with his weight. She didn't want to be gentle either. She just wanted him. His mouth dropped open, groaning with ravenous hunger as she nipped at his lip before moving to explore his jawline. _Was that her tongue?_ Oh, he might be going to hell . . . but he would burn happily for this. He was already on fire. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he rolled her over and over again, positioning himself between her legs as the kisses grew deeper, more frantic. _I love you._ He pressed her down hard against the earth, his hands tracing her body. He was desperate to feel her under his fingertips.

And Clary wasn't holding back, either—the things she was doing to his own body with her fingers and her lips and her tongue . . . _Oh God,_ his breath caught and shuddered. _Don't stop._ Jace had never felt anything like this before. He wanted to be closer to her. He wanted to be as close to her as two people in love could possibly be. And Clary—she wanted him. No one else . . . just him. She had finally said it. By the Angel, she was beautiful.

Shooting back on his knees, his body spasmed as Clary followed him up, her knees bent on either side of him. She was still kissing him as his hands tore feverishly at his jacket. He couldn't get it unzipped fast enough. Once open, Clary took over, desperately pushing it off his shoulders and ripping it from his arms in her frantic need to get it off him, discarding it somewhere nearby. And she didn't stop there. The moment Jace was free of his jacket, Clary's fingers were grasping wildly at the hem of his shirt, pushing the fabric up the muscled planes of his abdomen as she undressed him. _She_ was undressing _him._ Her palms burned against his skin, and he growled hungrily. He needed this—he need her. Pulling the shirt off his head, Jace tossed it in what might have been the same direction as his jacket before he was on her again, their mouths colliding in heated passion. He grabbed at her hip, her thigh, his fingers digging into her jeans as he traced downward, hooking the crook of her knee and hitching her leg against his side. She gasped against his lips and he grinned, but a second later it was his turn to gasp as she one-up'd him by locking her ankles around his waist, pushing her pelvis against his. Her eyes widened at what Jace knew she must have felt there. He wanted her. By the Angel, he wanted her. And there was no hiding it now.

He stopped thinking intelligibly at that point.

And then they were kissing again, lost to the world around them. The ashes were falling through the night sky, lit by the moon and millions of stars and it was the only place Jace ever wanted to be. This was also the second time they had been covered in ashes, he thought with a grin against her lips. He loved her. He loved her so much it hurt. He barely dared to believe that this was real—that any of it was real. Panting, he pushed his hips against hers once more, his body shaking violently with long suppressed desire. And in return, Clary arched up off the ground crushing every inch of herself against every inch of him as her teeth bit into his lower lip. She sucked it into her mouth, driving him absolutely bat shit crazy. He wanted to be closer to her. It was unfair that he was the only one shirtless. With trembling fingers, he found the buttons of her coat and tried undoing them. Too bad he was suddenly the worlds biggest blundering idiot.

"I'll do it." Clary's voice was breathless, her eyes shining as she sensed his trouble and shot up to help him. And then she jerked back, a surprised gasp escaping her lips as if she had been hurt.

Jace bit down on his cheek, his body going still. "What is it? Did I hurt you?"

"No," she shook her head as she leaned back against the ground and stared up at him, there legs tangling together as Jace adjusted his weight so as to not crush her. Her pupils were blown wide with only a sliver of Idris peaking out at him. Jace's heart cracked at seeing just how much she wanted him radiating from behind her emerald orbs. Her lips were swollen with kisses— _his_ kisses. Reaching up, she traced a finger along his neck sending shivers rushing across his bare skin. "It was this," she said softly, and Jace looked down to see her pointing at the Morgenstern ring—their family ring. He nearly laughed. Magnus had given it back to him right before leaving for Idris, and Jace had completely forgotten about it. He couldn't _possibly_ imagine why.

Smiling, he traced a finger gently across Clary's freckled cheek. "I'm sorry," he said roughly, though sincerely. He wanted to kiss her again. "I forgot I was wearing the damn thing." He cradled her head between his arms.

"Jace," she said suddenly, her voice stretched tight. "Jace, don't."

"Don't what?" he asked in confusion. Brushing back her hair with his fingers, he touched his nose to her throat, his breath hot against her skin. "Don't wear the ring?"

"No, don't—" Clary sucked in her breath as he nipped gently at her jawline, "—don't touch me. Just stop for a second."

 _Stop._ Jace pulled back, his eyes wide and definitely confused now as he immediately dropped his hand away from her. Though he was still covering her body with his, he positioned himself so that she would not feel any of his weight against her. Had he done something wrong? He had thought that . . . that she had wanted him. She was still breathing hard, just like he was. She had . . . Jace shook his head with a sharp jerk. He would not question it. He would not put her in that position. And he would never push her into something she didn't want. And so he stayed frozen, unsure what to do.

Clary took a shuddering breath. "Jace," she breathed his name quietly. _"Why?_ Why now?" And with surprise, Jace could see the caution in the eyes that had only moments ago been drowning with desire.

"Why _what_ now?"

Clary shook her head as if she were trying to understand something. Whatever it was, Jace hoped she figured it out; because he was completely and totally lost. One minute they had been desperate to claw at one another. And now . . . nothing. Clary's bright emerald eyes watched him silently before she said, "You said there was nothing between us. That if we—if we let ourselves feel what we might want to feel, we'd be hurting everyone we cared about."

"I told you. I was lying." _What I had said, I said for you. To spare you from having to reject your pitiful brother._ And then Jace looked at her—the tangles of her curls, the fire in her eyes. If he had known that she had felt as he did. He wanted her. He wanted to love her and to be loved by her. He wanted to be inside her, consumed by her—and if she thought for even a second that he didn't, she was wrong. "Do you think I don't want to—?"

"No," Clary sighed softly, her eyes unreadable as she looked up at Jace. "No, I'm not stupid. I know that you do." And Jace felt his cheeks flush. "But," Clary continued. There was always a 'but.' Jace was really beginning to hate that word. "When you said that now you finally understand why you feel this way about me, what did you mean?"

And now it was Jace's turn to sigh. How could he possibly describe what he meant. How could he explain the years of knowing something was wrong with him, but never knowing what. Even now, he knew what he was doing was wrong, but he couldn't stop himself. She was his—the angel to his demon. How could he possibly explain any of _that?_ Reaching out, Jace stole her hand and brought it to his face, his fingers lacing with hers. "You remember what I said to you at the Penhallow's house? That you never think about what you do before you do it, and that's why you wreck everything you touch?"

Clary dropped her brows, her eyes going flat. "No, I'd forgotten that," she quipped. "Thanks for the reminder."

But Jace only shook his head, and stared down at the green jacket she wore under him. It was hanging open on either side of her now, her white cotton shirt clinging to her skin. "I wasn't talking about you, Clary," he said quietly. "I was talking about me. That's what _I'm_ like." Closing his eyes, he turned his face, running her finger tips along his cheekbone. "At least now I know why. I know what's wrong with me. And maybe—maybe that's why I need you so much." He looked down at her from under his lashes. "Because if Valentine made me a monster, then I suppose he made you a sort of angel." _All demons, even of the fallen sort, still worshiped the heavens._ "And Lucifer loved God, didn't he? So says Milton, anyway."

But Clary was already shaking her head. "I am not an angel." she said, staring up at him with unfathomable eyes as she exhaled sharply. "And you don't even know that that's what Valentine used Ithuriel's blood for—maybe Valentine just wanted it for himself—"

"He said the blood was for 'me and mine.'" Jace cut her off, not unkindly but simply matter of fact. What other possibility could there be? _None._ It was completely clear to Jace. He was the first born, the demon child—the failed experiment. And Clary—she was all that was good. If anyone had Ithuriel's blood, it was her. She was a beautiful success. And yet the idea seemed to upset her. Why? What had he said that was so wrong? She had seen the same thing he had. She knew it was true. Shaking his head, he captured Clary's emerald orbs with his—begging her to admit it. "It explains why you can do what you can do, Clary. The Seelie Queen said we were both experiments. Not just me."

"I'm _not_ an angel, Jace," Clary whispered again, more insistently. "I don't return library books. I steal illegal music off the internet. I lie to my mom. I am completely ordinary—"

"Not to me."

The words were honest and vulnerable, his eyes open for her to read. And it was true. Clary would never— _not ever_ —be ordinary to him. He couldn't explain it. When he was with her, it was like years of his carefully structured armor would come crashing down under her gaze. That gaze that was his home. And he bared it all out there for her to read. He wanted her to see him—the real him. The demon, the angel, her brother, and her lover. "Clary, I—"

"Get off me." Clary's anger seemed to hit suddenly, sending Jace's mind spinning.

 _"What?"_ He could hear the shock in his own voice. He couldn't help it! Was she serious?! He was at a loss, completely blindsided and without a clue as to what he did wrong. And yet, one look at her and Jace knew that he _must_ have done something wrong. Because whatever she had been feeling before, the longing and desire, they were gone. But why? _What hell did I do?_

"You heard me," she said irritably. "And leave my hand alone." Clary jerked her arm back, ripping her fingers out of Jace's, and holding her hands down at her sides where she still under him. It felt like she had slapped him. He had told her she could stop him sooner but she hadn't. She had urged him forward—pushed him to do more with her. She had wanted him as much as he had wanted her. And now . . . no, you know what? He would question it. It wasn't the stopping that bothered him, but the fact that he didn't know what he had done wrong.

"I don't suppose you want to tell me _why?"_ he asked with as much composure as he could muster. He silently thanked the night air for cooling his searing skin.

"You think you only want me because you're evil, not human," Clary snapped without hesitation. "You just want something else you can hate yourself for. I wont let you use me to prove to yourself how worthless you are."

 _What the fuck?_ "I never said that," Jace sputtered, his eyes wide. She couldn't possibly think he was using her! "I never said I was using you."

Clary laid her head back against the grass, her eyes narrowing as she looked up at him. "Fine," she said slowly. And it sounded like that one word had hurt her to say. "Tell me right now that you're not a monster—" Jace bit the inside of his cheeks as her eyes begged him to lie to her. Except that Clary didn't want the lie—she wanted the lie to be the truth. _No._ "Tell me there's nothing wrong with you." _I can't, Clary._ The thought was a miserable one. "And tell me you would still want me even if you didn't have demon blood—"

 _I CANT!_

Jace was breathing hard as he looked down at her, his golden eyes blazing. Because the truth was that he didn't know how he would feel given a different circumstance. They had both been robbed of that option. And so Jace only knew what was real. What he felt about the girl lying under him now. And because of that, he didn't have a clue as to whether he would want her or not if he hadn't been turned into a monster. _I'm your brother, for God sake. I shouldn't want you at all!_

And suddenly Jace was super aware of the fact that he was lying on top of Clary, and though he wasn't touching any part of her, he was still very shirtless. He wondered if he was making her uncomfortable. It looked like he was.

 _I cant do anything right!_

Jace dropped his head and shook it. _"Son of a bitch."_ This would never get better. How could it? With a jerk, he rolled off of Clary and sprung to his feet, snatching up his shirt and shoving it down forcefully over his head in one blurred movement. Clary stayed where she was in the grass, staring up at him with wide nervous eyes. He couldn't take it—he couldn't see her looking at him like that again. Spinning away, he set off to find his jacket, which was luckily not that far away. Forcing it on roughly, he jabbed his hand into the pocket for his stele, sure that Clary would want to get away from him as quickly as possible now that she knew what kind of monster he was. But it wasn't there. Clay had lost it. _"Fuck!"_ he shouted again, kicking angrily at the broken furniture and glass shards, pieces of the house that littered the ground around him. He kicked them hard, his frustration overwhelming him. He kept kicking. And when Jace looked up and saw Clary standing there staring at him silently, he could only give her his best _'we're fucked'_ smile. "Well," he snapped. "We're screwed."

And Clary blinked, obviously unprepared for what he had said. "What?"

Jace thrust his arms out irritably, gesturing to what remained of the destroyed manor. "Remember?" he said pointedly. "You lost my stele. There's no chance of you drawing a Portal now." _Great. This won't be awkward at all._ "We've got no other way of getting back. We're going to have to walk." With that, Jace turned and headed back toward Alicante but he only got so far before he stopped and turned to see Clary still standing back where they had been. "Are you coming or not?"

With that, Clary followed.

Neither of them spoke as they walked, save for Jace instructing Clary on which direction to turn at times. It was a long walk—he had warned her of that in the beginning. And she tripped a lot in the dark, even with his witchlight glowing as brightly as he could make it. Jace had to fight with himself to keep from reaching out a snatching her up each time. He had calmed down after only an hour, but at that point he couldn't talk to her. What would he say to her? How could he possibly apologize for unwarranted anger twice in a row now?

As they reached the rise that would take them down into Alicante, Clary's half closed eyes snapped up to the sky, "It's too early for dawn," she frowned, and Jace followed her gaze toward the east where the sky was lit up. She was right about one thing, at least—it _was_ too early for dawn. But that wasn't the sunrise.

"That's Alicante," he said flatly. "The sun doesn't come up for another three hours at least. Those are city lights."

Clary stared at Jace before shaking her head and pushing past him. He followed close behind, absently shouting out instructions at her and leading her to a dirt pathway that would lead into the city. But he couldn't keep his eyes off the sky. It looked red—but the demon tower only burned white. Unless—

"We must nearly be there," Clary called back suddenly, rounding another bend and stopping. "Is there a shortcut around the hill?"

But Jace wasn't paying attention to her. His eyes were glued on the sky now. Something didn't feel right. He could feel his body tensing. "Something's wrong."

And then Jace ran, knowing that Clary would follow. It was for that reason he did not run at his full speed. He skidded down the hill, his boots kicking gravel into the air, and shot around a curve where he skidded to a halt. Behind him, Clary barreled into him, and Jace immediately braced against the impact, before wrapping his arm instinctively and protectively around her. He turned her toward Alicante.

The first thing Jace noticed was the demon towers. They were shattered. All of them. Jace's heart lurched painfully. They had always stood strong since . . . _always._ And something ached mournfully inside Jace at seeing them. But then there were the screams and Jace's eyes darted in horror at the black plumes of smoke that rose into the sky. The flames below licked their way through the streets with the quickness of lighting. The streets were burning. How. How could this be? This was Alicante. This was the safest city for Nephilim. Jace tasted blood in his mouth.

Next to him, Clary slipped his hand into his.

It was impossible. Surreal and impossible.

The City of Glass was under attack.

* * *

 _ **Please Review!**_


	11. Holding It Together

**~ Chapter Ten ~**  
 **Holding It Together**

When Magnus had first gotten the message from Luke asking for his help, and requesting that he come to Idris, he had told himself he wouldn't go. He knew that Luke had good intentions with what he was doing. He also knew that Luke was trying to protect Clarissa. But all the same, Magnus was already familiar with how this turned out, for it _always_ turned out the same. Luke wasn't the first one to try to unite the Downworlders and Shadowhunters. It never worked. The animosity between the Nephilim and their counterparts was still too strong; especially in Idris where the Shadowhunters who lived there very rarely came across Downworlders—if at all—and still thought of them as evil beasts. Things that were beneath them.

So not only would Magnus _not_ go . . . he would, in fact, go as far as he could in the opposite direction. Chairman Meow had grunted disbelievingly when Magnus announced this out loud, which in turn, had caused an hour long argument between him and the cat. An hour of Magnus insisting that he would not, under _any_ circumstance, be going to Idris. And no, he did _not_ care if there was a beautiful dark haired, blue eyed boy there that might be in trouble. Because _that_ boy was an idiot.

But all that was before he had gotten the message from Ragnor.

Magnus had sent a message to his old friend a while back telling him about Clarissa and to be on the lookout for her after she had created a Portal (a concept Magnus still hadn't quite gotten over, given how long it had taken him and Henry to invent the Portal all those years ago) and jumped through it all willy-nilly, taking Luke with her. Ragnor didn't seem surprised to hear this—granted, Ragnor was not the type to get excited over much. Or surprised. Or happy. It was only then that Magnus decided that he would go to Idris and see what it could possibly be that Ragnor would need. But it did not, at all, have anything to do with the stupid dark haired, blue eyed boy that just so happened to be there as well.

When he announced his new plans, Chairman Meow had given a self satisfied huff—as if saying, _'I told you so.'_ The following argument only took thirty minutes that time. So . . . it was an improvement at least. Before he left, however, he contacted Catarina and told her of the request Luke had made, as well as the one concerning the werewolves. She found it as odd as Magnus had, but she agreed to do it.

After reaching Idris—after finding Ragnor murdered in his cottage—Magnus would have happily taken to arguing with his cat again. The death of his friend hit him hard. Ragnor had been one of the greatest warlocks Magnus had ever had the honor of knowing and calling a friend throughout their very long lives together. Ragnor had held out hope that Shadowhunters would change. Even after it became clear, time and time again, that they wouldn't. Nothing Magnus or Catarina said could ever sway him.

It was for his friend, that Magnus stayed in Idris.

At least . . . it was at first.

He had not had long to grieve his friend before Clarissa and some ridiculously gorgeous Shadowhunter boy toy had shown up. In fact, the boy's one flaw was his bad dye job. And even that could be overlooked. Besides, one's fashion disaster was their own, though it had left Magnus briefly wondering what color his hair really was. With the pale of his skin, he had guessed it to be blonde, like Jace. In fact, he had looked kind of like Jace but taller, broader in the shoulders. Magnus had both pitied the boy in front of him— _it was never gonna work_ —while simultaneously wondering if Jace knew Clarissa was there with him.

 _Today on, As Idris Turns . . ._

 _Will Jonathan ever get over Clarissa?_

 _Will Clarissa move on with a wannabe Jonathan look-a-like?_

 _Will Alexander finally get his head out of his ass?_

No . . . probably not . . . hopefully?

Regardless of how gorgeous the boy had been, or how doomed whatever the boy hoped would happen between him and Clarissa was . . . it didn't change the fact that Magnus didn't know him. And so he didn't trust him or his bad dye job. In the end, Magnus would pretend to be Ragnor in front of the boy. Clarissa, he knew. Clarissa he trusted. And he would give her what she was seeking. Freezing the boy—Magnus had wanted to keep him as a hat rack . . . he would have made his house so much prettier—he gave Clarissa the information she needed to wake her mother. And then Magnus had sent her away with the caution of telling no one but Jace what he had told her. That had happened this afternoon. He had not heard from her since.

But instead of leaving, Magnus had sat waiting for something to happen—waiting to hear back from her. She would be retrieving the Book of the White. He would be lying if he said that he wasn't excited to get his hands on it—such a powerful book. A book of spells. A book whose rightful place was with a warlock. And not just any warlock, either, but him. Magnus had not heard tales about it's whereabouts since back when it was once meant to be used as the cause of a great betrayal. He would love to see what spells the elusive book held.

Bored out of his mind and not wanting to stay any longer in Ragnor's house, Magnus decided to take a walk—and found himself not far from Alicante. Stopping on a large cliff, he stared down at the glittering City of Glass that reflected light upon the mountain sides. He had been to the Shadowhunter Capital before—more times than he would have liked. And always with permission. _Nephilim and their ridiculous Law_. But visiting was never the most comfortable of experiences. Even when he had come to help fight in the Uprising against Valentine, he had been made to check in with the Clave. Rolling his amber cat eyes at the memory, Magnus once again focused on the inhabitants walking along the cobblestone roads below. Not all of them were bad, though.

 _I guess I still have faith in them too, Ragnor._

The thought was a sad one. Because even with the faith he had, Magnus knew from past experience that things never changed. Sighing and taking a seat on a nearby rock, Magnus turned to watch the sun set below the mountains—winking out of existence. And he continued sitting there, unsure of why he hadn't gotten up. He didn't want to go back to Ragnor's, but he couldn't sit on a rock all night either. Well . . . he _could_ . . . but it wouldn't be the most comfortable of experiences. Magnus rubbed at his eyes and leaned forward, his elbows digging into his knees. What he really wanted was to speak to Alexander. But it wasn't like he could just stride right into Alicante and ask to speak to the idiot. Not without _"special"_ permission. And not with the wards up—

One of the Ward towers flickered and Magnus blinked, unsure if he was seeing right. The towers never did that . . . the city would crumble before those towers did. It must have been a trick of his mind or the lighting or . . . but just as he thought it, the great glass tower flickered again before going out like a flame that had been extinguished with a breath of wind. Within seconds, another tower went dark. And another. Magnus was on his feet, staring down in shock. Could that actually be happening? The Wards were always lit. _Always._ They might change colors—Magnus knew each color meant something different—but they never went out completely!

At first there was silence. Even from the distance, Magnus could _hear_ the silence around the pounding of his heart. And then there were the screams as the demons began pouring down from the sky like a hail of arrows.

 _Alexander._

It was Magnus' first thought. And he felt fear deep within the pit of his stomach, spreading out like a cancerous plague throughout his body, his heart slamming against his ribcage as he stared down at the city. And then he was moving, reaching the North Gate of Alicante in record time. He couldn't even remember the descent down the cliff.

The Shadowhunter guards were there, of course, fighting back three Dahak demons—their seraph blades casting strange reflections off the demon's brownish-green scales. As Magnus approached, he sent a bolt of blue flames streaking into the night sky toward a demon that had picked up one of the guards. It struck home, but not before the demon had managed to use its grotesque tentacles to rip the Shadowhunter in half and cast his remains into a nearby tree like the worlds worst Christmas decorations. Deciding that red would be stricken from his Christmas decor this year, Magnus turned his attention back on the remaining demons. The other guard had managed to take down one and together they killed the last. Breathing hard, the Shadowhunter cast his gaze up at Magnus; and for one wild moment, Magnus thought he was going to have to ask for permission to enter the city. But then the Shadowhunter took off, running toward the tree his deceased comrade was dangling from.

Magnus decided that now was not the time to point out the helplessness of the man's situation.

Pushing through the gate and into the city, he was surprised to see that many of those on the cobblestone streets were young Nephilim who had never fought, and older Shadowhunters who had not fought in many years. Where were the _real_ Shadowhunters, Magnus wondered both irritably and stricken. And where was Alexander? Was he safe? He didn't get to think long on it as an elderly man exited a small home in front of Magnus. He was hurrying three small children—grandchildren, probably—down the steps, a seraph blade held tightly in his hand as he shouted at them to get to the Accords Hall.

Several things happened at once, then.

The youngest one, a small girl who looked no older than seven, and reminding Magnus strongly of Clarissa with her red hair in pigtails and bows, had stopped to stare up at him at the same time that an Oni demon lunged from the shadows toward her. The old man yelled out upon seeing the monster, but It was clear to him and Magnus both that the Shadowhunter would not reach his granddaughter in time.

Magnus exploded into action, his hands a blur of movement as they whirled and crackled with blue electricity. His body was rigid, his eyes deadly. Without a moments hesitation, he sent a spear of sapphire lighting slamming into the creature, striking it in one of it's hidden hearts. The demon screeched as it rocketed backward, scrabbling at a weapon that wasn't there before it began folding in on itself. Magnus turned back toward the girl, and she smiled up at him. Actually smiled. And so Magnus smiled back just as the old man scooped her up off her feet, casting a dirty look at the warlock, before running off with her, hurrying the other two children along as he went.

"You're _welcome!"_ Magnus yelled out pointedly at them. It was that kind of attitude that made Magnus hate it here. And yet . . . the little girl had smiled at him. Shadowhunters weren't born with a prejudice toward Downworlders . . . they were taught it. Magnus sighed and shook his head, thinking of his old friend. Of Ragnor. He would not leave. He would push on. He would try to help, whether they thanked him or not— _or not,_ being the likely response. Besides, he had to know if Alexander was safe. Magnus might be mad at the frustratingly idiotic Lightwood boy, but it didn't change how he felt about him. _Though it does show how stupid you are,_ he thought to himself irritably as he continued on.

And so it went. The farther in he got, the denser the streets became. And Magnus dispatched demon after demon as he moved, spears of blue fire lighting up the blood soaked streets and the damaged buildings. The demons were everywhere. _Inside Alicante!_ He still couldn't wrap his head around it. In all the years that Magnus had been alive, something like this had never happened; had never seemed even remotely possible! Magnus knew that this was history in the making, and he did like to sprinkle himself into the history books. All the same, he still couldn't help but to feel a sting of sympathy for the Shadowhunters. It was true that they could be a massive pain in the ass, but . . . this—this was too much. This was _wrong._

This was Valentine.

Like the elderly Shadowhunter before, those Magnus helped as he moved forward, treated him with caution—all too aware of what he was and what his being there might mean. But at least they didn't all run from him. Some even stopped to thank him for the help. He assumed those ones were from an Institute somewhere. And he only waved them on impatiently. "Get to the Accords Hall!" he would shout, shooing them away.

And then he found himself spilling out onto Cistern Square where he was brought up short once more. There was a solid line of Iblis demons blocking his path this time; their bodies like human smoke. And though Magnus could see through them—the way he wanted to go lying behind them—he also knew they were much more solid than they looked. Their yellow glowing eyes were watching him, and Magnus sighed deeply. _I could be in the Bahamas somewhere. A margarita in my hand . . . the sun on my face. But nooo . . . ._

Magnus opened his arms low at his side, his fingers splayed out. He could feel his magic flowing through his body more persistently, as if pin needles were running through his veins—his skin buzzing. And then the magic was crackling threateningly through his fingers. At least these demons were known for being slow and stupid. With an unexpected whirl, he began sending an array of blue spears and fire darting out at the monsters, watching as demon after demon folded in on itself. But for every one he took down, another one replaced it—something that was going to grow tiresome and annoying. But he didn't stop. He _couldn't_ stop. Not when his life depended on it. And he rather liked living. So he kept going, kept slicing them down as they moved forward. It took some time, but finally (mercifully) the blockade of demons began to thin and grow smaller.

A moment later, they were gone—the last of the Iblis demons folding in on themselves one by one. Exhausted but satisfied with himself, Magnus cracked his knuckles just as he heard movement behind him. Spinning on his heels and quickly calling his magic to his fingers—he immediately stumbled backward in shock. A large Feral demon loomed over him, staring down at him, its eye rolling widely. It was taller than Magnus, it's pincers reaching for him. Taking another step back, Magnus' fingers splayed out reflexively, sharp bolts of blue shooting from his fingertips. How long had it been behind him? He hadn't heard it approaching, and he realized then that it must have used his distraction with the Iblis to sneak up on him. It had gotten too close. With a surprising amount of sadness given his long life, Magnus realized there was no way he was going to get out of this one. The Feral would kill him.

Closing his eyes he thought of a dark haired, blue eyed boy. He thought of . . . _Alexander._

The demon roared and Magnus's eyes popped open just in time to see it go up in ash.

Taking a sharp breath and another step back, Magnus blinked into the dimly lit ally in shock. What had just happened?! Blinking again, more impatiently, he forced his cat-like eyes to adjust quickly and—and his heart stopped at the shadow of a body staring out at him from behind where the demon had been. He would know that shadow anywhere.

 _"Alec?"_ Magnus's mind began to jumble upon seeing the boy staring out at him from the alley. But how did—this couldn't be happening—how had he . . . Magnus swallowed and gave his head a jerk. "Did you just—did you just save my life?"

And then his breath constricted as Alexander moved out of the alley, his dark hair shining in the dimmed witchlight lampposts. He was holding a glowing seraph blade in his right hand instead of his usual bow and arrow, which meant that he must have had to act quickly. He was in the black Shadowhunter gear that Magnus had always thought was rather appealing on the Nephilim—even as the design changed throughout the eras—and his dark hair was hanging down over his eyes. Swallowing, Magnus met those cobalt blue eyes that he had not been able to stop thinking about. Eyes that had once looked up at him trustingly and in wonder. Eyes he had kissed. _Don't stare at him,_ he reminded himself firmly, dropping his gaze—where he was then forced to try not to look at the Marks that were peaking out from under Alexander's jacket. _Must you make this so hard?!_

The silence between them stretched on, and Magnus fought with the pull of his own body. He wanted to run to the stupid boy—wanted to take Alexander's face in his hands and kiss it. Magnus wanted to feel Alec's arms around him again. Which was why he kept his feet firmly planted. Besides, now was not the time to discuss such things. Though he did wish Alexander would say something, instead of standing there staring at him like that. Magnus felt exposed under Alexander's unwavering gaze. Exposed to something Magnus had been trying to refuse. The truth, maybe? And again, it was hardly the time!

Unwillingly, Magnus looked into the intense blue of Alec's eyes. Like cerulean flames. The Shadowhunter's chest was heaving, his breath coming out heavily as he continued standing there unmoving, staring at the warlock. Magnus felt his heart constrict as he looked away quickly, trying hard to ignore the fact that with all the surrounding demon's dead, they were standing in the square completely alone.

Taking another cautious step forward, Alexander once more captured Magnus helplessly inside the stormy prison that were his eyes. That look . . . it set Magnus on fire and he wondered if Alec had any clue what he was doing to him. Probably not. Alexander had never been aware of his own sexual magnetism. And some things don't change. But whether Alec knew it or not, didn't change the fact that Magnus felt the Shadowhunter's gaze on his body like hot ashes kissing his skin.

It was Alexander who spoke first.

"You never called me back," he said, his jaw tight as he tried and failed to keep the anger and hurt out of his voice. And Magnus felt his brows shoot up in blatant exasperation. Was he really trying to talk about this _now?!_ The seraph blade dropped to Alexander's side, his fist tight around the hilt as he refused to let Magnus look away. "I called you so many times," he continued persistently, "and you never called me back."

Magnus knew he was looking at Alexander like he was crazy. He meant to. Weren't there more pressing matters than who called who back? And quite frankly, Magnus just wasn't ready to talk about them yet . . . no matter how much his heart screamed at him otherwise. "Your city is under attack—" Magnus said with exasperation, gesturing pointedly toward a building that chose that exact moment to burst up in flames— _please don't let him think I did that._ Shaking his head with a jerk, Magnus looked back at Alexander and felt his stomach flip at finding that the Shadowhunter was still watching him expectantly. His stormy eyes intense in the fire light. This wasn't happening. Magnus sighed irritably. "The Wards have broken, and the streets are full of demons. And you want to know why I haven't called you?"

Alec's jaw tightened in that stubborn way that both annoyed Magnus and drove him crazy. "I want to know why you haven't called me _back."_

 _Oh for the love of—_ Magnus threw his hands up with exasperation, blue sparks escaping from his fingertips the way embers might crack upward from a bonfire. This was ridiculous. The fire was spreading, people were in danger— _your people, I might add—_ and demons were running amok in the streets like children in a candy shop! _And yet, you want to know why I haven't called you back?!_ Magnus shook his head helplessly. "You're an idiot."

"Is _that_ why you didn't call me?" Alec asked honestly, taking another step forward, shortening the distance between them and making Magnus' heart skip a beat. "Because I'm an idiot?"

And Magnus stared at Alexander. _Yes. No. I don't . . . gah!_ It took great effort not to pull out his hair. But he hated this feeling! Hated that look in Alexander's eyes! Hated knowing that he gave Jace the same look. Hated being second when he should be first. It wasn't fair. It wasn't . . . "No," Magnus said, making up his mind as he strode toward Alec, completely closing the gap that separated them. If he wanted to talk about this now, fine. They would talk about it. But Magnus wasn't going to be nice about it. "I didn't call you because I'm tired of you only wanting me around when you need something. I'm tired of watching you be in love with someone else—someone, incidentally, who will never love you back. Not the way I do."

Alexander blinked, his stormy sea eyes staring up at Magnus in surprise. Whatever he had thought Magnus was going to say, it wasn't that. "You love me?" he sputtered. And Magnus would have laughed if it hadn't for the honest shock and awe in the Shadowhunter's voice. Alexander wasn't Jace or Isabelle. He didn't hide his emotions like others, and he always said what he was thinking. It was a trait that Magnus loved about the Shadowhunter.

Taking a deep breath, Magnus called upon the patience he had come to acquire over the several years he had been alive as he looked at the ridiculous boy in front of him. Around them, the fire was spreading and the screams were becoming more distant. But in this moment, there was only the two of them.

"You stupid Nephilim," Magnus sighed. "Why else am I here?" _Do you not know that you were my first thought when the sky broke open and rained down hell? That you were what I believed would be my last thought? That you are always in my thoughts?_ "Why else would I have spent the past few weeks patching up all your moronic friends every time they got hurt? And getting you out of every ridiculous situation you found yourself in? Not to mention," he added, glancing around irritably, "helping you win a battle against Valentine. And all completely free of charge!"

Even though the fire was moving away from them, Magnus could still feel its heat. But he felt more heat coming from Alexander who was staring at him as though he had been slapped. And then the Shadowhunter sighed, his chest deflating. "I hadn't looked at it that way."

"Of course not!" Magnus snapped, irritably. "You never look at it in any way." Expelling a breath, he took a step back from the Shadowhunter who held his broken heart. "I'm seven hundred years old, Alexander. I know when something isn't going to work. You won't even admit I exist to your parents."

Alexander blinked. "I thought you were three hundred! You're _seven hundred years old?"_

 _Because of course that's all you heard._ "Well," Magnus said slowly, his head listing to the side as he stared sadly at Alexander. He really was frustratingly adorable sometimes. "Eight hundred—" _Give or take._ "—but I don't look it. Anyway, you're missing the point. The point is—"

But Alec's eyes had moved past Magnus, focusing on something behind him. And his body had gone rigid. "Damn it."

Turning, Magnus saw what had captured Alexander's attention away. Iblis demons. They were back; at least a dozen of them pouring into the square and forming a half circle around the Shadowhunter and warlock. Cocking his head back toward Alec, Magnus narrowed his cat eyes, a coy smile playing on his lips. "Way to change the subject, Lightwood."

Alexander met Magnus' eyes fiercely, sending warmth flooding through the warlock as if the Shadowhunter were an open flame. "I'll tell you what," he said slowly as he removed a second blade from his belt. "We live through this, and I promise I'll introduce you to my whole family."

Magnus stalled, taken aback. Was he serious? And then he nearly laughed. Alexander was always serious about things like this. And Magnus smiled the first real smile he had worn in what felt like a very long time, his heart skipping a beat that sounded suspiciously like, _Al-ec, Al-ec._

Oh dear, that was so horrifyingly cliché—Magnus would tell no one of it. Instead he raised his hands, electricity snapping from his fingers in excitement as he looked at Alexander whose blue eyes sparked in the magical light. "It's a deal."

 **#####**

Jace's heart raced as they ran—not with exertion, but with fear. His eyes were darting around, taking in their surroundings with tactical precision as well as focusing on the burning city below in horror. He flew over the ground like the wind, his feet barely glancing off the rocks, roots, and weeds of the forest. This wasn't possible . . . how could this be possible?! Demons had never gotten past the towers before. _The first time in Shadowhunter history._ Jace bit down hard on his cheek, skidding to a halt near a cliff and stared down at the once glorious city that was now being devoured with fire and smoke. The fire lit the night sky, the smoke dancing like shadows. He could smell it—the sharp scent of burning wood, the coppery scent of blood. But there was something more than that; something foul and repulsive. And as his eyes focused, he could see the Shadowhunters running along the cobbled street.

He could hear the screaming.

 _How did you do it, father?_ For that was the only logical explanation. Jace knew deep in his heart, that this was the work of their father. Next to him, Clary was staring down wide eyed at the burning buildings below. It may have been her first time to Alicante, but Jace could tell that she understood that this was not something that was a common occurrence. Shaking his head, he turned back toward the burning city, his eyes traveling the scorched roads and the fence that bordered the great city. The front gate door was blown wide.

"Valentine," he said bitterly, his stomach churning as the word nauseated him. _Our father._

Clary's emerald eyes ticked up, her brows raising with surprise. "You think Valentine did this?" she asked. "It looks like a fire. Maybe it started on its own—"

"The North Gate is open." Jace pointed. "It's never left open." He was only mildly surprised that she hadn't instantly realized this as he had. She had not grown up with the Valentine—something he was grateful for. He remembered all to well what he had endured, being a demon child. There was no telling what Clary would have been put through, being an angel child. But just the thought of it sent a rage searing through Jace's body and he jerked the image of it away as he pointed a shaking finger to one of the darkened towers. "And the Demon Towers have lost their light. The wards must be down."

 _The wards are down._ Taking a step back from the cliff, Jace pulled one of his Seraph blades from his belt. He ran his thumb along the handle as he gripped it, feeling as it hummed in his hand. And he looked at Clary with desperation mixed with anger and horror—and this time, she matched it. She understood it now. It felt like the world was caving in on Jace, crushing him beneath its weight. Alec was down there. And Izzy. Jace shook his head. Maryse, Robert, Aline, and Max. Max was down there and he was only nine! He couldn't protect himself! Panic squeezed Jace's heart, choking it.

"I have to get over there," he breathed, taking another step back toward the path that would lead them down, but kept his eyes on Clary's beautiful face. She was looking down at the city again, really taking it in. And when she spoke, she did not look up. But her voice was choked as a name fell despairingly from her lips. "Simon—"

Jace moved forward in a flash, his hand taking Clary's shoulder and turning her gently. Her Idris eyes were shimmering like dew drops in the meadow, and his heart twisted. "They'll have evacuated him from the Gard," Jace reassured. At his words, Clary looked down again at the city below, the smell of it turning sour, more acrid as it spread. Her shoulders trembled underneath his hand, and he squeezed lightly. "Don't worry Clary. He's probably better off than most down there. The demons aren't likely to bother him. They tend to leave Downworlders alone."

Clary's eyes flashed up to him apologetically, as if realizing something. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "The Lightwoods—Alec—Isabelle—"

 _"Jahoel,"_ Jace exhaled, watching the angel blade shoot to life. He disliked the guilt in her tone. It was normal to think of those you loved most when something like this happened—not that something like this had ever happened before. From where Jace stood, he could hear the screaming. He thought he might have caught a whirl of blue light, but when he looked again, it was gone. Biting down on his cheek, Jace took a breath before casting his eyes pleadingly at Clary. The wards were down and the city was burning. _It's normal to think of the one you love the most._ "Clary," he said slowly, squeezing the hilt of the blade as he kept his tone as matter of fact as he could. "I want you to stay here." _Where it's safe._ "I'll come back for you."

Clary's Idris eyes blazed in the darkness, her head shaking stubbornly. "I want to come with you."

Jace's shoulders tensed. _Of course you do._ He wasn't really all that surprised by her refusal, if he were to be honest with himself. _Not that you're all that honest with yourself—shut it._ Biting down, he took a painful glance at the girl he loved. Would he really try to stop her? _We all know how well that worked out last time._ Jace exhaled, a buzz spreading through his body from the ground up, tingling his skin the longer he looked at her. He should hate that she had the ability to do that to him. He didn't anymore. All he wanted now—all he had ever wanted—was to keep her safe. But there was more to it than just that. Something he didn't know how to tell her. He wanted to run at his full speed. He wanted to get there as quickly as he could. And Clary wouldn't be able to keep up with him. His body was beginning to vibrate. "Clary—"

Hard.

His body was vibrating _hard._

And what was that noise?

Jace's head snapped up toward the forests, his eyes raking the shadows. The ground was rumbling beneath his feet, and he could hear the thunderous padding of paws upon the earth.

Clary spoke cautiously from his elbow. "It's—"

 _"Werewolves,_ " Jace finished, sucking in his breath as he caught sight of the dark movements moving within the shadows of the trees like a swirling dark abyss; and then one by one they began to form as they burst forward from the trees. Their coats gleamed in the moonlight as they spread out and ran down the hill—right toward them. _Shit, shit shit . . ._ Jace took a step forward, not believing his own eyes. There were so many! Hundreds? Thousands? And then he shook his head taking a step back protectively toward Clary. _I'm good, but I'm not that good!_ Pushing his free hand through his hair and tasting blood in his mouth, Jace was overcome with despair as he spun around to look for a place to run—to hide. But the wolves were too close; he and Clary would never make it. _"Fuck."_ He looked at Clary and shook his head, getting lost in her bright emerald eyes. They were saying what he was already thinking.

If they were to die, they would die together.

 _Not her. Not her . . . by the Angel, please . . ._

But what could he do? The wolves were almost upon them. Reaching out to Clary, Jace hooked a finger through her belt loop and pulled her against him; his hand slipping around her heated waist and holding her to his side where she would always fit perfectly. With his heart pounding wildly, he held Jahoel high above his head and turned toward the wolves.

He could hear the barking.

Clary's arms slipped around his waist.

He could feel the breath of wind racing in front of the pack, and Jace tightened his arm around Clary, wishing with all his heart that it was enough to protect her—knowing that it wasn't.

He could see the white of their eyes.

 _I love you, Clary._

Jace tensed, his body ready to explode into action as a large rust colored wolf barreled toward them, followed by many, many, more. He adjusted his grip on the blade, counting the movements. His eyes locked with the wolf's large brown ones. And then . . .

The wolf broke to the right.

Jace could hardly believe it, his mouth dropping open in shock, as he watched the massive beast dart around them. They were all doing it—leaping, ducking, and darting away from him and Clary. None of them were attacking. It was like they were a rock in the middle of the worst river known to man. But how . . . why? He couldn't explain it. Over the thundering paws, Jace heard Clary gasp as she, too, realized what was happening and he tightened his grip on her as her head whipped around. He was still holding his blade high—watching as the sea of wolves ran and leapt past—none of them so much as giving the two Shadowhunters a second glance. It was like riding a wave. It might have even been cool, if it weren't for the fact that Jace was so wound up he was sure he'd flip the fuck out soon.

All the same, there was nothing they could do except keep as still as possible as the wolves passed like the East River at midnight. Jace could hear their breaths, feel the prickle of their fur as they passed. All of them heading in the same direction. All of them moving like a landslide toward Alicante. Jace's heart flipped sickeningly. Were they friend or foe? But then . . . only Luke's pack were allies. Other packs had their own agenda. This wasn't good. _Friend or foe?!_

As quickly as they had come, they were gone.

 _What the shit was that?!_ Jace blinked, lowering his blade as Clary slipped away from him quietly. He turned his head to look down at her. Her green eyes were astonished as she stared after the wolves, her red curls windblown. Swallowing hard, he fought down the urge to sweep her hair away from her face. "Are you all right?" he asked softly.

But Clary only shook her head, her eyes still wide as she looked up at him. "What happened?" she breathed, her Idris meadows bright in the moonlight. "Those werewolves—they just went right by us—" She was shaking as she spun away from him to stare after the wolves and Jace followed her gaze, still feeling his own shock as he watched tidal wave of werewolves descend upon the burning City of Glass.

 _Right, then. Change of plans._ "They're going to the city. To Alicante," Jace said at the same time that he unsheathed another blade from his belt. _And I'm not about to leave you here. Not after that._ "You'll need this." Holding it out to Clary, he watched as she stared at it and then up at him with surprise.

"You're not leaving me here, then?"

Jace nearly laughed. _After what just happened? Definitely not._ "No point. It's not safe anywhere." Besides, regardless of the werewolves showing up or not, he knew she would have come anyway. And short from some half-assed argument where he might have grumbled a lot, he would have done nothing to stop her. He had learned that lesson painfully once already. And then Jace stared down at his bandaged hand, contemplating their options. He might still ask her to stay somewhere—worrying about her safety was something he would never stop doing—but he would not try to keep her from coming if that was what she wanted. _At least I can be taught._ And then he looked back up at her as she took the blade, her fingers brushing his.

"But—" Jace swallowed, his heart racing as he released the seraph blade and watching as she drew it toward her. "You'll be careful?"

Clary held his eyes and Jace knew he was an open book at that moment. He knew she could see his fears and wants and sorrow. _Can you see the demon?_ Jace bit down on his cheek hard just as Clary spoke. "I'll be careful," she said with a nod. In that moment Jace could see the change come over her—that soldier like precision. She may not have been trained properly—but it didn't change the fact that being a Shadowhunter was in her blood. She lowered the blade to her side. "What do we do now?"

Jace reached forward and traced a finger delicately across her cheekbone. "We run."

And then his body exploded, racing after the wolves. He could hear Clary running behind him—and then farther behind him— _shit!_ —he slowed his pace marginally, biting down as he did so. When he heard her catch up, he paced himself so that she wouldn't fall behind again. Together they glanced off rocks, and roots—they flew over the ground, the night air rushing through their hair.

When they reached the base of the hill, Jace reflexively put on a spurt of speed toward the open North Gate, darting across the flat road with the speed of a rapidly fired arrow. He held Jahoel out, sweeping the area with it, his body alert and tense. The place was deserted; the guards were gone— _Oh. Not all gone,_ he realized as he caught sight of the nearby tree. It was dripping with blood and— _yeah that's a leg._ Jace felt nauseous, but he bit it back just as a pang of grief hit him. The loss of any Shadowhunter, was a loss felt by all. Reaching for his belt, Jace removed his last seraph blade just as Clary reached him. She was out of breath, her own blade held out in front of her at a strange angle as she looked around wildly.

"The guards," she panted, "why aren't they here?"

"At least one of them is over there in that stand of trees," he said jerking his head toward the dead Shadowhunter. "In pieces." He saw no use in lying to her about it. Especially when he knew they might see worse inside the gate. Granted . . . knowing that didn't stop him from stepping in front of her to block her view when she turned to see what he was talking about. "No, don't look," he said softly. _For the love of the Angel, just because we might see worse doesn't mean you have to look for it._ And then he dropped his eyes back down to the blade he had given her. She was still gripping it awkwardly—still at that strange angle. "You're holding your seraph blade wrong," he said then, glad for the change of subject.

Taking her by the shoulders, he positioned her so that their dominant hands would be on the same side. And he heard the catch in Clary's breath. But she said nothing and Jace shifted, leaving only inches between them as he lifted his own blade. Turning his wrist, he showed her the way he was gripping it. "Hold it like this," he breathed down at her. He was highly aware that for all the space between them, there might as well have been none. He could feel the heat radiating from her—pulsing across his body as if she were pressed against him. "And you need to name it. _Cassiel_ would be a good one."

Clary held the blade out to the side, matching Jace's stance and adjusting her grip accordingly. _"Cassiel,"_ she breathed, and they both watched as it shot to life, the light sending sharp shadows across Clary's face. She looked right, holding it—like it was meant to be in her hand.

She looked like an avenging angel.

Lowering his own blade, Jace bit down on his cheek as her eyes met his from under her lashes. "I wish I'd had time to train you for this," he said somberly. Maybe if he hadn't been so hell bent on making sure she didn't come to Idris, he would have. But there was nothing he could do about that now. "Of course, by all rights," he sighed, reaching forward absently and correcting her grip on the hilt again. "No one with as little training as you should be able to use a seraph blade at all." And yet here she was, holding an angel blade blazing in her hand— _compliments of our father now doubt,_ he thought angrily. "It surprised me before, but now that we know what Valentine did—"

"Or maybe," Clary cut him off pointedly, her emeralds blazing in the angel light. "You were just worried that if you did train me properly, I'd turn out better than you."

Jace knew that she was avoiding the topic of their father, but all the same he felt the corners of his mouth tick upward. _Ha. Like that would ever happen. No one's better than me._ But then he shook his head, his eyes meeting Clary's once more as she lowered her blade. And he held her gaze, emeralds and gold melting together. He wanted to brush his hand along her cheek, but he refrained this time. The yelling—the screams—they were growing distant and louder at the same time. They were wasting too much time.

"Whatever happens, Clary," he said softly, almost painfully, "stay with me. You understand?" He refused to let her look away, begging for her to promise to stay close to him. To not wander off. _Please Clary. I won't stop you from coming but . . . please—_

"I'll stay with you."

Jace released his breath, relief washing over him. It would be the only relief he would get. "Good," he said, taking a step back. "Let's go."

They walked together through the gate, Jace on the left and Clary on the right. The courtyard was empty, but the smell of burning buildings and demons was heavy on the night air in the small circle. They moved cautiously. Jace's eyes swept the area, taking in their surroundings carefully and with great detail. He missed nothing. The blood on the cobblestone, shining under the fire that licked up toward the sky as it devoured building after building, the bodies of the fallen. Some of them were children, and Jace's stomach turned as rage and adrenaline raced violently through his blood.

Children. They were killing _children!_

Biting down hard, Jace tasted blood as he turned his head away, his thoughts on Max. Pushing across the courtyard quickly and quietly—Jace relied heavily on what runes he already had, as he didn't have a stele to draw new ones. Clary followed silently, though her steps were heavier than his as they padded across the yard and raced down a smaller street. Taking Clary briefly by the arm, Jace cut through an alleyway that dumped them out onto Flintlock Street and Jace skidded to a halt. Demons had been here recently—their stench stronger than before. The shops were wrecked, as well; windows and displays smashed and strewn about. He thought briefly of the woman with the koi tattoo. He hoped she made it out okay. "This way," he said then, darting up the street and into another alley where the second floor of one of the shops was burning ravenously as it rained down ash. Jace raced along the back of the buildings. He could hear the screaming getting louder.

"The Gard," Clary panted with worry behind him.

But Jace kept running, calling back over his shoulder as he went. "I told you, they'll have evacuated—" Jace braked hard as they spilled out into yet another square. Up ahead were more bodies, and Jace heart lurched as he moved forward cautiously. It was an elderly man and more children. Three to be exact. And it was clear that the older Shadowhunter, with his arms thrown wide, had spent his dying breath trying to protect the younger children. But it was the little red headed girl with bows that caught Jace's attention. She was lying curled up. She could have been sleeping. She was so small—younger than Max even—and she looked so much like . . . with pain wracking his body, Jace jerked his head to Clary.

And he froze.

A Behemoth demon was pushing its way out of a broken window in the cake shop, its grotesque body churning and bubbling as it went—its razor sharp teeth snapping at the air. And Clary, who was closest to it, hadn't noticed it yet. "Clary—" Jace swallowed, his voice clipped and quiet and urgent; his body unmoving so as to not give away his position. Behemoth's were slow and blind, but if they knew where you were . . . "—turn around. Slowly." And she did, her eyes falling on the scattered cakes, the smeared frosting, the broken glass, before finally resting on the demon. She tensed, taking the tiniest of steps backward toward Jace, just as the slug-like demon flopped onto the ground with a sickening squelch. Clary took another step back and Jace reached forward to steady her, his hand circling her upper arm. "It's a Behemoth demon," he whispered, his eyes never leaving the oozing monster as it approached slowly. "They eat _everything."_

"Do they eat . . .?"

Clary's voice trailed off as she pushed back against Jace, who gave her arm a light reassuring squeeze. She didn't have to finish the question for him to know what she was thinking. "People? Yes." And then taking a swift step to the side, he pushed Clary back to where he had been standing—away from the creature. "Get behind me."

Clary backed up some more, and Jace stepped in front of her, shielding her from view of the Behemoth as he put himself between Clary and the monster. Its slime was shimmering in the moonlight, and for a second Jace thought he might have seen through it. He really hoped it was earthbound. _One way to find out._

He exploded forward, his body moving with speed and strength and more—the blood of a greater demon. He was one of them—one of the monsters he was about to kill. The thought was a horrifying one as he swung _Jahoel_ out, slashing at the creature before bringing it down into the demon's back. _At least I look better than this thing._ And he made a face he hoped Clary couldn't see as the angel blade squished into the demon's revolting body. The thing truly was disgusting—Jace really hated these ones. Stabbing it was like stabbing a very large flan with teeth. _There's a lovely thought. Good job ruining flan for yourself,_ he thought sardonically as he struck the desert off his list of foods he liked. The demon however, unaware and uncaring of Jace's desert problem, began gurgling around the holy knife, its body shuddering before it appeared to fold in on itself and unfold several feet away. _Fuck, I hate when they do that._ Shaking his head, he looked back at Clary who was watching him curiously. "I was afraid of that," he said in way of explanation. "It's only semi-corporeal. Hard to kill."

Tightening his grip on the hilt of his blade, Jace made to move forward again—determined to kill this fucking thing one way for another. But then Clary was there, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket, her eyes wide and logical. "Then don't," she said firmly. She had not let go of his sleeve and she was pulling on him now, jerking him back toward her. "At least it doesn't move fast. Let's get out of here."

Jace stared at Clary, the ashes clinging to her hair and eyelashes. Her green jacket was dirty and frayed as well, dark patches marring spots where it seemed to have been singed. But her eyes were bright in the fire torn sky. And they were demanding. Groaning internally (he hated running away more than he hated the disgusting creature), Jace backed up several steps, letting Clary pull him, before he turned and they ran together toward the opposite end of the square. They didn't make it far before they were skidding to a halt once more.

The demon was there, in front of them. Its row of teeth snapping and clicking. And had it gotten bigger? "I don't think it wants us to leave," Jace frowned, pulling Clary back once more, his head cocking to the side as he studied the demon. What had Hodge said about these things? There was a heart somewhere underneath Tons-of-Funs slimy skin . . . and if he remembered correctly, it was constantly moving, making it a hard target.

 _Fuck it, I'll just take your bulbous head you overgrown jellyfish—_

"Jace—"

He heard Clary's tone of caution, but it was spoken too late. Flying forward, Jace lashed out with _Jahoel_ , the blade cutting through the night sky with perfect control. It should have hit home. It should have sent its stupid head flying. But the demon shuddered away again, missing the blow meant to kill it. _That's rude you know—_ Jace thought with annoyance as he spun around to face down the demon once more. It had reappeared behind him— _This whole, 'not dying' thing you're doing. Especially when it's been made perfectly clear that we would really, really like you to die._ The demon reared back, its underside similar to that of a bug. Jace didn't waste the advantage as his seraph blade shot out, slicing through the demons belly. And then he was jumping back as ichor and green blood sprayed out toward him. It was as though he had hit a major artery on the thing, and Jace's face twisted into revulsion as the demon flan— _yep, definitely striking that off the desert list_ —dropped back down. It was still clicking and snapping its teeth angrily, but it didn't seem hurt at all. _Son of a bitch._

"Jace!" It was Clary again, the terror in her voice sending Jace's heart into a panic. Spinning to look at her, his blood racing, he saw that she wasn't in immediate trouble as he had first thought. But she was staring wide eyed back at him, her own weapon held tightly at her side. "Your blade—"

 _What?_ Confused, Jace looked down at his blade and— _fuck._ His blade was coated in the bloody mucus from the demon. And it sounded like the holy knife was hissing, its light going out as the blood spread—it was actually spreading, eating his sword. What the— _"Shit!"_ Jace spit irritably, flinging the blade away from him before the ichor could touch his hand.

Reaching for his other blade, the demon flared back again before darting forward with hungry purpose toward him. Jace ducked, jerking backward and—and then Clary was there. He watched as she darted between him and the demon, bringing her blade up and slamming it into the monsters jaw. It made a sickening squelch as she pulled it out just as quickly and backed away, throwing Jace a wide eyed look as the demon began to spasm. Was she okay? She had better be okay! Because he was going to kill her for that! All the same, he had to admit it was a smart maneuver. The monster was between them now.

Jace made to cast another glance at Clary, but it wasn't Clary that caught his attention. Squinting, he stared hard into the shadows behind her where he was sure he had seen something move. What . . . ? _Shit!_ _Can't we catch a fucking break?!_ It was one of the werewolves. "Clary!" he shouted, unable to get to her with the behemoth between them. "Behind you!"

Spinning, Clary froze as she stared at the wolf that was only a couple feet from her and closing in. His adrenaline spiked, jack hammering against the cold fear that was beating in his veins. _Not her, he pleaded. Not her . . . take me. Not her . . ._ _"NOT HER!"_

Taking a shuddering breath, Jace ducked the demon as Clary looked up at him, meeting his wild gaze with wide frightened eyes. It was as if time stood still in that moment—just the two of them looking desperately at each other. But he couldn't reach her—nor would time remain frozen. A split second later the wolf lunged and Jace watched as Clary threw herself to the side, somehow managing to duck just under its outstretched claws.

The werewolf was on the demon now, biting into it, and Jace didn't hesitate—using the distraction to rush to Clary. _She was okay,_ he told himself as he looked her over. _She was okay . . . the wolf didn't get her._ Behind him, he could hear the desperate cries of the demon and ravage snarls of the werewolf, but Clary was all that mattered to him. His heart was still hammering—a mixture of fear and relief—as she looked up at him in shock. Jace didn't trust himself to speak. Reaching down, he took her hand and pulled her to her feet just as the wolf snorted behind him. Spinning, he threw himself in front of Clary and pulled his other blade from his belt.

The werewolf had killed the demon, its ichor and slime coating its fur, and now it was eyeing them. Jace glared back defiantly. At the sight of the blade, the wolf snarled in anger. But all Jace could think was that he would die before he let the wolf close to Clary again—not that he would be the one dying. Taking a step forward, he brought his seraph blade down in one of his defensive stances, ready to strike forward.

Clary had grabbed his arm. "No—don't,"

But Jace didn't move. Was she serious? This thing had nearly killed her! Biting down, Jace refused to take his eyes off the silvery glare of the beast in front of him. "It's a _werewolf,_ Clary—"

"It killed the demon for us!" Clary cut him off, glaring up at him. Was that what she thought it had done? Cause from where Jace had been standing he was pretty sure that the beast had merely missed its intended target. But Clary was shaking her head as if she had heard his thoughts. "It's on our side!" And before he could stop her, Clary pushed past him and approached the wolf slowly, her hands out as if it were nothing more than a domesticated dog. The werewolf eyed Clary like it thought she was ridiculous too, though it wasn't attacking either. So there was that. It was still taking everything Jace had not to yank her back.

"I'm sorry—" _Oh yes, talk to the damn thing._ "—We're sorry. We know you don't want to hurt us." And the wolf cocked its head at Clary, its eyes giving away nothing. But Clary wasn't giving up. "Who—who are you?" At the question, the wolf looked at Jace, who was still standing there with his blade held at the ready. _One move mutt, and I swear to the Angel it will be your last._ Clary, following its gaze, gave him reproaching look. "Can you put that thing away?" she snapped.

Jace glared at her like she was crazy. _Um, no. In no uncertain terms do you just put a seraph blade away when it's shining in the presence of danger! What are you thinking?_ But before he could actually say any of this, the wolf snorted in disgust and began to transform. Jace watched transfixed as its hind legs elongated, and the fur turned into a white dress that would have been more flattering against her smooth chocolate skin had it not been stained with demon guts. Her dark hair was pulled back in multiple braids and a scarf rested around her throat.

 _"Who are you,"_ the girl mocked Clary. "I can't believe you didn't recognize me. It's not like all wolves look exactly alike." And she shook her head, scoffing. _"Humans."_

But Clary merely beamed, letting out a breath. "Maia!"

Maia. The wolf girl. One of Luke's. Jace remembered her—she had been the one his father had kidnapped with Simon. He also remembered he hadn't been all that nice to her that night at Luke's. Jace frowned. Regardless of who she was, however, Jace was still unhappy with her presence here. Not only was she a Downworlder inside Alicante, but she had made him think . . . shaking his head, he looked at Clary. He could still feel the fear and he was too jacked up on adrenaline to trust himself to speak—though he did finally lower his blade just as the wolf girl smiled.

"It's me," she grinned. "Saving your butts, as usual." Now it was Jace's turn to scoff. He could have handled it. He had it all under control— "And gross, by the way," Maia said, cutting into his thoughts as she stared down at her ruined dress. "I cant believe I munched all that demon. I hope I'm not allergic. _Yes, because that's the important thing_ , Jace thought flatly just as Clary spoke.

"But what are you doing here?" she asked pointedly, shaking her head. "I mean not that we're not glad to see you—" _Speak for yourself._ "—but—"

"You don't know?" Maia asked, her gaze shifting from Clary to Jace in surprise. "Luke brought us here."

"Luke?" Clary blinked, her body going still. Jace moved closer to her. "Luke is here?

 _The wolves outside Alicante . . ._

Jace shook his head. Luke's pack wasn't that big . . . so how . . .?

Maia nodded. "He got in touch with his pack," she explained. "And a bunch of others—everyone he could think of—and told us all we had to come to Idris. We flew to the border and traveled from there. Some of the other packs, they Portaled into the forest and met us there. Luke said the Nephilim were going to need our help . . ." _That we would need help? From Downworlders?_ Jace met the wolf girls gaze as she trailed off. _Did Luke know this was going to happen?_ Maia's brow furrowed at his blank stare. "Did you not know about this?"

"No." Jace said bluntly. "And I doubt the Clave did either. They're not big on taking help from Downworlders."

At his words, Maia pulled her shoulders back. It was obvious that he had offended her though it had not necessarily been his intention. "If it hadn't been for us, you all would have been _slaughtered._ There was no one protecting the city when we got here—"

"Don't" Clary stepped in, glaring at Jace who was biting hard at his cheek as he glared at the wolf. He had not said what he had to be rude. It was merely a fact . . . but rubbing in the destruction of his city . . . the deaths . . . Jace jerked his head hard in an attempt to clear it as Clary turned back to Maia. "I'm really, really grateful to you for saving us, Maia—" _I'm not. We were doing just fine._ "—and Jace is, too—" _Bullshit, I am!_ "—even though he's so stubborn that he'd rather jam a seraph blade through his eyeball than say so—and don't say that you hope he does," she added quickly, looking at the wolf girl who was breathing hard as she glared at Jace. _Why not,_ he wondered. _It'd be the truth._ "Because that's really not helpful," Clary continued, answering his unasked question. "Right now we need to get to the Lightwoods' house, and I have to find Luke—"

"The Lightwoods?" Maia cut her off, capturing Jace's attention. "I think they're in the Accords Hall. That's where we've been bringing everyone." And then she shrugged. "I saw Alec there, at least" At hearing his _parabatai's_ name, Jace felt about a ton of pressure release from his shoulders as relief swept through him. Alec was there. He was alive. " And that warlock, too," Maia continued. "The one with the spiky hair. Magnus."

"If Alec is there, the others must be too," Jace breathed, and Clary and Maia both looked at him. The relief he felt must have been evident on his face. Swallowing hard, he nodded at the wolf. She would never know the gratitude he felt toward her at that moment. "Clever to bring everyone to the Hall," he said instead. "It's warded." Meeting Clary's eyes he allowed the faintest of smiles as he sheathed his blade back on his belt. They were alive . . . his family. They were okay. "Come on—lets go."

It didn't take them long to reach the Accords Hall, as they were not met with any other demons along the way. This worried Jace for reasons he wasn't sure. The city was burning . . . the bodies in the street. He knew there was no way that they had killed them all, so where were they? All that left Jace once they were inside.

The place was a mess. Shadowhunters were everywhere, many of them severely injured. Those that weren't were running around, either looking for ways to help or looking for someone they knew. He had never seen the Accords Hall so full. His pulse raced as he lifted himself to his toes, glancing over the heads of many. _Where were they . . . where was Alec?_ But it was difficult to see—to even concentrate amongst the silence. In fact, the only noise was coming from the bubbling mermaid fountain that sat in the middle of the room. Jace wasn't surprised by the silence of the room, Shadowhunters didn't panic the way mundanes did, but it was still clear that no one had seen this coming. And why would they? Alicante was safe. It had always been safe.

As they pushed further into the room, walking slowly, Jace met the steady gazes of his fellow Shadowhunters nodding grimly. And as his eyes came to rest on a group of young children who had been huddled together, unclaimed by parents who may not come, Jace's body ignited with fury. His father would pay for this. _I will find you._

"My pack!"

The wolf girl's inappropriately excited voice echoed through the room, breaking Jace away from his thoughts as he looked to see what she was talking about. It didn't take long, and Jace had to stop himself from showing any emotion as his eyes fell upon the group huddled by the fountain. Werewolves. In the Accords Hall. _They're here to help,_ he reminded himself. Still, it was a difficult sight to see. Maia, however, was already making her way toward them, but stopped halfway there to look back at Clary.

"I'm sure Luke's around here somewhere," she called. And then she was gone, having been swallowed by her group of mutts. Looking down at Clary, Jace saw her staring wistfully toward the group . . . as though she wanted to join them. Knowing her, she probably did.

"Don't." He warned. "It's not a good—"

 _"Jace!"_

Spinning at the sound of his name— _Alec_ —Jace saw his brother pushing his way through people in his panicked effort to reach him. _Well . . . most Shadowhunters don't panic like mundanes._ And then his brother was in front of him, anger and relief storming like a hurricane in his blue eyes as he grabbed Jace by his jacket.

"What _happened_ to you?" he demanded, shaking him.

Looking down in shock at Alec's fist clenched in the fabric of his clothes, and then at the blood on Alec's Jacket, the disarray of his hair . . . he had been fighting. Was the blood his? And he looked up at Alec like he was crazy— he looked far worse than Jace did, he was sure. "What happened to _me?"_ he asked with pointed indignantly. _Shouldn't I be asking the same about you?_

But before he could do just that, Alec was shaking him again, harder. "You said you were going for a _walk!"_ he practically shouted. _I did? Oh yeah . . . I did._ That seemed so long ago. "What kind of walk takes six hours?"

"A long one?" Jace offered, though he did make sure to look slightly ashamed at having worried Alec.

 _I was worried about you, too._

Alec stared at him and Jace refused to look away. Finally, his _parabatai_ loosened his grip. "I could kill you," he said letting go of Jace completely. _I love you, too._ "I'm seriously thinking about it."

"That would kind of defeat the purpose," Jace said plainly, straightening his jacket and looking around. It was then that he realized that the others were not with Alec. "Where is everyone?" he asked, his eyes darting back to Alec with worry. "Isabelle and—"

"Isabelle and Max are back at the Penhallows', with Sebastian," Alec cut him off, and Jace felt his pounding heart slow just a fraction. Not that he particularly cared about Sebastian's whereabouts, but . . . "Mom and Dad are on their way there to get them." Alec continued. "And Aline's here, with her parents, but she's not talking much." At that, Jace's brow shot up, but Alec shook his head as if to say, _not now._ Out loud he said, "She had a pretty bad time with a Rahab demon down by one of the canals. But Izzy saved her."

"And Simon?" Clary asked anxiously, coming to stand next to Jace as she looked up at Alec. "Have you seen Simon? He should have come down with the others from the Gard."

Meeting his brothers eyes briefly— _fuck_ —Alec shook his head slowly. "No, I haven't." And Clary inhaled sharply. "But I haven't seen the Inquisitor—" Alec went on quickly, seeing Clary's distress. "—or the Consul. He'd probably be with one of them. Maybe they stopped somewhere else, or—"

Alec stopped abruptly, looking up at the same moment Jace did. A slow whisper was sweeping through the room, getting louder, and heads everywhere were turning toward the door. Jace followed their gaze. _Ah._ He let out a breath as he watched Luke walk through the doors. He was covered in blood, and it was easy to see even from here that he was exhausted. Next to him, Clary froze . . . staring at the man that Jace knew she thought of as a father. Before he could say two words to her, Clary shot away from him . . . her ruby hair flying out behind her. Luke looked surprised to see her running at him—almost nervous—but the closer she got, Jace could see the smile that lit his face as he opened his arms just as Clary barreled into him.

Jace looked away, an ache deep within the pit of his stomach spreading. That was how it was supposed to be. That was how a father was supposed to be. And it was what an angel deserved. Which was why Jace shouldn't even be allowed to watch—not with what he was. And he didn't deserve Alec, who he could feel watching him.

"What really happened?" Alec asked quietly. "Where were you really? And don't say, _'on a walk.'"_ Sighing, Jace looked up at the boy he had always thought of as a brother. The boy he had tricked into tying himself to a demon. _I didn't know._ Jace bit down, trying to think of how he could possibly answer those questions. What would Alec think of him when he learned the truth? But he never had to find out as at the moment Alec's eyes widened, looking past Jace. "Oh shit."

 _What?_ Alec didn't cuss often so the fact that he was . . . Jace spun to see what had captured Alec's attention. He didn't have to look hard.

"Well, this is a touching scene." The Consul, Malachi, was there, staring coldly at Luke and Clary as he moved toward them. "Isn't it?"

Shit was right. And Jace's first instinct was to get to Clary. Alec, seeming to realize this, stopped him—grabbing his arm and shaking his head cautiously. Something about the look in his brother's eyes stalled him. So Jace stood there, watching with apprehension—ready to act should he need to—as the Consul stopped in front of Luke and Clary. He could just make out his face under the heavy blue robe he wore. Despite his words, Malachi did not look like he thought that anything about Luke and Clary was heartwarming in the least.

"Lucian," Malachi said slowly. "I might have expected you'd be the one behind this—this invasion."

 _"Invasion?"_ Luke asked incredulously. And then his pack was there, standing behind their leader and his daughter. This . . . this was what Jace had meant earlier when talking to the wolf girl, and he balled his hands into fists just as Luke shook his head, his eyes shining silver under the glass dome that reflected above them. "We're not the ones who invaded your city, Consul," he said slowly and with much more patience than Jace had ever given the man credit for. "That was Valentine. We're just trying to help."

Jace knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. It seemed Luke did too, though he seemed to care a lot less as the Consul shoulders shot back as though he had been insulted. "The Clave doesn't need help," he spit at the pack leader. "Not from the likes of you. You're breaking the Law just by entering the Glass City, wards or no wards. You must know that."

With a swift but subtle move, Luke pushed Clary behind him so that it was he who stood between her and Malachi. "I think it's fairly clear that the Clave _does_ need help," the pack leader disagreed calmly. "If we hadn't come when we did, many more of you would now be dead." And then he cast his unwavering gaze around the room, meeting the eyes of those who were brave enough—many of whom had probably even known Luke from when he had been a Shadowhunter. When his eyes fell on Jace, he nodded slightly. Jace nodded back just as Luke fixed his gaze back on the Consul and crossed his arms. "I did it to prove a point, Malachi."

"And what point might that be?" Malachi asked, his tone barely masked fury.

"That you need us," said Luke pointedly, his eyes flashing. "To defeat Valentine, you need our help. Not just the help of the lycanthropes, but of all Downworlders."

At this, Malachi scoffed and looked at Luke as if he were something disgusting to be stepped on. "What can Downworlders offer against Valentine?" he asked contemptuously. "Lucian, you were one of us once. We have always stood alone against all perils and guarded the world from evil. We will meet Valentine's power now with a power of our own. The Downworlders would do well to stay out of our way." And then he turned to the Shadowhunters that had crowded around them. "We are Nephilim; we fight our own battles."

"That's not _precisely_ true, is it?"

Next to Jace, Alec froze as a Magnus walked through the crowd, his cat like eyes shining as he approached the Consul, his long glittering coat sweeping back behind him as he moved. His hair was spiked extravagantly, as it always was, and several golden hoops hung from his ears. Judging by the looks on the faces of many of those around him . . . they were not quite sure what to make of the warlock. Jace, however, merely wondered if it would be in poor taste to nudge Alec and give him a little wink wink.

Before he could think overlong on it, however, Magnus was stopping in front of the Consul, a coy smile playing on his lips. "You lot have used the help of warlocks on more than one occasion in the past, and paid handsomely for it, too."

Jace had to hand it to the warlock. He knew how to make an entrance. Malachi, however seemed to disagree. "I don't remember the Clave inviting you into the Glass City, Magnus Bane."

But Magnus only shrugged. "They didn't. Your wards are down."

"Really?" the Consul sneered irritably. "I hadn't noticed."

At this Magnus frowned, his eyes clouding with concern. "That's terrible. Someone should have told you." Turning to Luke, he pointed at the Consul. "Tell him the wards are down."

And Jace had to bite back a laugh. Luke, however, looked like he was suddenly wishing he was anywhere else but here. Shaking his head, he ignored the warlock and turned his attention back at the Consul. "Malachi, for God's sake, the Downworlders are strong; we have numbers. I told you, we can help."

"And I told you, we don't need or want your help!" Malachi practically shouted.

Behind him, Jace heard Alec take a breath. "Why wont he just listen?" his brother sighed. "Why wont he . . ."

But Jace stopped listening, his eyes focusing on Clary as she and Magnus slipped away from the fighting. _What is she doing?_ He didn't take his eyes off her, watching as they pushed themselves into a relatively quite corner. A second later, he could have sworn he saw Magnus bouncing with glee. _She must be giving him the book,_ he realized. Would she tell him what else they found at the Manor, he wondered? Would she tell him what they had learned. He didn't get to think on it long as the sudden addition of a third person sent Jace's questions flying and his heart skittering. Tall, dark haired, dressed head to toe in Shadowhunter gear, Sebastian had joined Magnus and Clary now. What was he doing here, anyway? Wasn't he supposed to be with Isabelle and Max?

"What the hell?" Alec said, suddenly noticing what Jace was looking at, just as Clary reached up and brushed Sebastian's face. "He was supposed to . . ."

 _Nope._ Jace was moving, his blood rushing in his ears as Alec quickly followed behind him. "Clary!" he yelled out, as they got closer. But his eyes were on Sebastian. _I suggest you back the fuck up_. His jaw was locked as they came to a stop, taking in the scene in front of him—Clary looking surprised, Sebastian looking irritated, and Magnus suspicious as he held the Book of the White against his chest. Sebastian, Jace noticed, had three long claw marks running down his cheek, and he wondered briefly what it was that had attacked the boy. Either way, he hoped it hurt.

"I thought I told you to stay with Max and Isabelle!" Alec growled at Sebastian as he came up behind Jace. "Did you leave them alone?"

But Sebastian didn't answer right away, instead glaring at Jace who was seriously getting ready to throw him outside. After a few seconds, he slowly drug his eyes toward Alec. "Your parents came home," he said with cool indifference. "Just like you said they would. They sent me ahead to tell you they were all right, and so are Izzy and Max. They're on their way."

Jace's eyes narrowed. "Well," he began derisively. "Thanks for passing on that news the second you got here."

"I didn't see you the second I got here," Sebastian said, his tone matching Jace's as his eyes snapped back to him. "I saw Clary."

"Because you were looking for her." Jace stated pointedly, crossing his arms.

But if the accusation bothered Sebastian, he didn't show it. He merely shrugged. "Because I needed to talk to her. Alone." And then he was looking at Clary, trapping her in his black gaze. Jace had to bite down on his cheek and dig his feet into the ground hard to keep from shoving the boy away from her. "Clary?" Sebastian pressed when she said nothing.

 _Tell him no. Tell him no, Clary. Please._

Clary nodded. "All right. Just for a second." And it took everything Jace had to keep himself from lunging at the boy. To keep from beating him within an inch of his life. _This was the demon,_ he realized. _These thoughts. She's not mine._ And yet . . . he could only think of the exploded manor while they lay wrapped in each others arms under the moonlight. Swallowing, he stood motionless as Clary's Idris eyes glanced up to meet his blank golden ones and she looked away quickly. Slowly, he drew his gaze toward Sebastian, biting down the revulsion and anger and jealousy he felt toward the boy. _If you touch her . . ._

"I'll be right back," he heard Clary say, but he never took his eyes off Sebastian.

And he continued watching as Sebastian took Clary by the wrist and lead her away from them, fighting the urge to go after her. It had been her choice—she had gone with him willingly. Crossing his arms, he never took his eyes off them. Nor did he fail to notice that Sebastian was leading her toward the door. If they went outside, Jace _would_ go after them. And he couldn't promise that he wouldn't punch the stupid Penhallow boy in the process. But they didn't go outside. Clary had stopped before they reached the door, shaking her head and pulling her arm away from Sebastian as he gestured toward the door.

"There's something not right about him." It was Magnus, who was watching Clary and Sebastian as well, the book still clutched tightly against his chest. At least Jace wasn't the only one who noticed it. Clenching his jaw, he watched as Sebastian spun around to face them, surprise on his face—almost as if he knew they had been talking about him. If Jace had been in a better mood, he might have waved. He was not in a better mood. Instead, he stood stone still and glared back at Sebastian as the boy turned his attention once more back to Clary.

"I think I shall take my leave," Magnus said slowly . . . almost as if he felt like it might not be the best idea for him to stay. From the corner of his eye, Jace saw Magnus disappear into the crowd. He didn't say goodbye.

Suddenly Sebastian took Clary's wrist again, and this time it did not look as if it was something she had expected or wanted. Jace's pulse surged, a low growl escaping from his throat. _Let her go._ Behind him, Alec said his name cautiously, but Jace ignored it. He could taste blood in his mouth. And then Clary's eyes flashed to him and the empty spot next to him where Magnus had once stood. Sebastian followed her gaze, his dark eyes glossing over Jace in disgust— _the feelings mutual_ —before turning back to Clary. Had she just tried to jerk away from him? Jace took a step forward, his body ready to explode into action—itching for the fight.

"Wait," Alec said, placing a light hand on his shoulder just as Clary turned to walk away. But Sebastian, with his hand still clasped around her wrist, stepped in from of her, blocking her path.

"No."

It was all Jace could get out of his clenched teeth as he started forward. He could hear Alec keeping pace behind him as they pushed through the throng of people that stood in their way. One guy, seeing the look on Jace's face, moved quickly to the side. As he came up behind Sebastian, he could see that Clary was indeed trying to pull out of Sebastian's grip.

"—I can help you get him out," Sebastian was saying. "But you have to promise me that you'll—"

"She doesn't have to promise you anything." Jace cut him off with a forced calm. And then his eyes lowered to where the boy still had a hold of Clary. "Let her go, Sebastian." _I will not tell you twice,_ and he placed his hand on the hilt of his blade.

Sebastian spun, looking at Jace in surprise as Clary pulled her arm out of his grip. Jace had to bite down as she rubbed at it. Closing his eyes, he took a breath before fixing his gaze back on the Penhallow boy.

"Clary can do what she wants," Sebastian said blankly, but he was staring at her like his life depended on her decision. _What the fuck is wrong with you?_ "And right now she wants to come with me to save her friend. The friend _you_ got thrown in prison."

Hearing Alec's sharp intake of breath, Jace shook his head—his golden eyes boring into the dark desperate ones in front of him. _That was it_ . . . _you're desperate._ But that wasn't just it. There was something else. Something . . . "I don't like you," Jace said slowly, searching the boys eyes. "I know everyone likes you, Sebastian, but I don't. Maybe its that you work so hard to _make_ people like you. Maybe I'm just a contrary bastard. But I don't like you, and I don't like the way you were grabbing at my sister." Jace took a breath. He had called Clary his sister without flinching. Perhaps it was because he was trying so hard to keep himself from burying his blade in the boy's chest, but regardless . . . "If she wants to go up to the Gard to find Simon, fine. She'll go with us. Not you."

Jace saw Sebastian swallow, his eyes flashing as he turned to look back down at Clary with that same pathetic look. "I think," he said slowly, "that should be her choice." And then his hateful eyes flashed up to Jace. "Don't you?"

And they both looked at Clary, who was staring back and forth between them with her wide emerald eyes. She looked nervous, and annoyed, and . . . and just like his Clary. His Clary that he would burn down the world for.

"I want to go with my brother."

Jace expelled a breath of relief that he kept from showing on his face. Sebastian, on the other hand, didn't move—his expression didn't change. He didn't get angry or sad or anything, really. Nothing. He merely looked between the two of them before saying, "Of course you do."

But his voice and the way that his eyes had flashed . . . he may have had the others fooled— _but not me_. There was something seriously wrong with this guy. Jace had been taught how to hide his emotions better than anyone; a demon created by the master of lies, after all. But Sebastian . . . he was good. Good enough that it caused a deep unease to settle in the pit of Jace's stomach. Before he could comment, however, Alec was moving—pushing him toward the door. But not before Jace made sure Clary was with them.

Walking away with Clary, he could feel Sebastian's dark eyes on them the whole time.

* * *

 _ **AN:** So here it is. I want to thank all of you have not given up on the story, and those that have not given up on me. 2016 was a very hard year for me . . . one where I had to give up writing and fan-fiction altogether. While I had not meant to go as long as I did, it was something that was also outside of my control. But that said, I'm back! And I'm working on the next chapter now. To those who have sent me messages and left amazing reviews over the past year . . . I am still going through them, and all I can say is thank you. Thank you so much. You have all put a huge smile on my face. Starting 2017 pretty well if I do say so myself. Anyway, I hope you liked the chapter. And as always, _

**_Please Review!_**


	12. When Evil Calls

**~ Chapter Eleven ~**  
 **When Evil Calls**

 _I want to go with my brother._

Jace smiled as he cast a sidelong glance toward Clary.

 _I want to go with my brother._

Despite everything . . . _she chose me._

They didn't talk as they walked quickly toward the Gard, nor were they stopped by anyone. Not that Jace had thought they would be. With everything that had happened, he highly doubted anyone would be paying attention to them. Well, no one except Sebastian. Jace still hadn't deciphered that look he had had up on hearing Clary chose Jace was. It was like the boy had snapped . . . and yet he had hidden it so well—had remained so incredibly calm.

As they rounded the winding path that led up to the Gard, the thought was suddenly flushed from Jace's mind—replaced by a sinking fear as Clary gasped. The building was on fire; the flames devouring the roof tops, as black smoke billowed up toward the sky. Casting a quick look at his _parabatai_ and then at Clary, Jace bit down on his cheek as she lifted trembling fingers to her lips.

"Simon," she breathed shakily.

Jace frowned, his heart breaking whenever hers did. "Come on . . . around this way."

And they were running. Leading them as they rounded the building, Jace could feel the heat coming from the crumbling stone walls—hear the crackling of the fire within. While Jace wasn't overly fond of the building, he also couldn't wrap his head around the loss of it either. It had been there . . . _forever._ And the Portal! It was likely destroyed by now. It had been what had brought him to New York after his father—Jace shook the thought away with a jerk. The Shadowhunters would have a lot to rebuild.

Focusing back on the task at hand, Jace ran heavily through the dying grass before slowing and pointing at the set of bars he knew belonged to the vampire. "There," he said, stepping aside as Clary rushed past him in her desperation to reach her friend. Alec came to a stop next to Jace, watching in silence as she gripped the bars.

"Simon," he breathed, tugging on the bars. Jace held his breath, looking up at the building. The fire was getting closer—louder. They would have to hurry. In front of him, Clary called Simon's name again . . . and then, "Simon, you stupid idiot!" Jace nearly laughed, but held it in. He didn't think it would be appreciated at the moment. Biting down, he watched the girl he was in love with pull once more at the bars. "I'm over here! At the window!"

 _Well, no one ever said the vampire was a smart one._ And Jace rolled his eyes, just as the Daywalker's muffled voice came from down below. "Clary?"

"Oh, thank God," Clary breathed at the sound of her friend. Jace could see some of the tension escape from her shoulders as she reached her hand into the cell. It made him happy to see her happy. But it was more than just that. It made him . . . he shook his head. Simon was half demon, inflicted with a demon curse at least, and Clary still loved him. Still wanted to know he was safe. _B_ _ut Simon wasn't born a demon._ Jace swallowed as Clary continued. "We're going to get you out of there."

"How?" Simon asked. _How else?_ Stepping forward, Jace reached down and wrapped his arm around Clary's arm. Turning in surprise, she started to jerk away, but Jace held on as he gave her a pointed look. Seriously, how the hell else did she think they were going to get the vampire out? He had said once that he would rip the damn bars off the cell—now was his time to shine.

Hauling Clary to her feet, he took her place at the window, gripping the bars. Peering into the cell, he saw Simon staring up at him questioningly. "Hang on," he said in way of explanation. Sitting in the grass he pushed his feet up against either side of the walls for balance, and then— _Oh, yeah . . ._ Pausing, Jace leaned back in toward the window. "You might want to stand back." And then he was pulling. Hard. His grip was firm on the bars, his body straining as he felt the metal loosen. Switching tracks, he began to push forward, hoping to jimmy the bars loose. It was working. _Come on you son of a bitch . . ._ And with a loud crack, the iron bars tipped forward—slipping out of Jace's hands and into the room with a loud crash that sent dust shooting up out of the newly opened window. _Good thing I told him to stand back._ Looking in, Jace saw Simon staring down at the cot that was covered with broken stones and the iron bars in shock. _Any day now, vampire,_ Jace thought irritably as Simon continued to just stand there. Letting out a sigh of impatience, Jace stuck his head in. "Simon. Come ON."

That got the vampire moving, and Jace reached down as Simon crossed the room quickly and reached up, taking Jace's outstretched hand. Jace pulled— _oh good lord, you could help a little you know_ —as Simon wiggled his away out of the small square window. And then he was free, Jace letting go as Simon sprawled out in the grass. Looking down at his hand, he saw that black soot covered his palm. Confused, he wiped his hand off on his jeans as he looked back down at the vampire . . . whose hands were also black with soot, and then up to his face.

"You look like crap, vampire," Jace blurted out honestly. "What happened to your hand?" _Tell me you weren't pulling on the religiously Rune'd bars . . ._

Pushing himself up into a sitting position and looking down at his hands, Simon opened his mouth to respond but was cut off as Clary chose that moment to go barreling into him. "Simon," she breathed, hugging him tight, and Jace's lips ticked up into the slightest of smiles. She was happy—and he would do anything to make her happy. It was a least a start to all the ways he would have to make it up to her, anyway. Granted . . . _you still have a long way to go,_ he reminded himself. Clary sat back and pushed Simon's hair out of his face. "I can't believe it. I didn't even know you were here." She hugged him again. "I thought you were in New York until last night—"

"Yeah, well—" Simon cast accusing eyes up at Jace from over her shoulder, "—I didn't know you were here either. In fact, I think I was specifically told that you weren't."

 _Um. No . . ._ "I never said that," Jace stated pointedly. "I just didn't corrected you when you were, you know, wrong." And then he shook his head, doing his best to look affronted. "Anyway, I just saved you from being burned to death, so I figure you're not allowed to be mad."

At his words, Simon pulled free of Clary and looked around, really noticing his surroundings for the first time—from the burning building, to the dense forest, and back to the cell window he had been pulled from. The vampires eyes shot to Jace's. "Samuel," he said breathily. _No, I'm Jace._ "We have to get Samuel out."

 _Who?_ "Who?" asked Clary, looking from Simon to Jace, who shook his head slowly. _No clue._

"I wasn't the only person down there," the vampire said more persistently. "Samuel—he was in the next cell."

And then it came rushing back to Jace. The man he had scared the first time he had come here to break Simon out— _he had a name?_ "The heap of rags I saw through the window?"

Simon nodded. "Yeah. He's kind of weird, but he's a good guy. We can't leave him down there." And then he was pushing himself to his feet, his eyes on the neighboring cell. "Samuel? Samuel!" When no reply came, Simon knelt down at the bars and peered in. "Samuel! Are you in there?"

 _Oh for the love of_ —Jace turned to look back at his _parabatai_ with exasperation, but Alec only shrugged as if to say, _he's your sisters friend._ Shaking his head, Jace turned back toward the vampire just as a voice called out from the cell below. "Leave me alone! Go away."

But whatever Simon had planned, going away was not one of them. He began pulling on the bars. "Samuel! You'll die down there!"

"No! Leave me alone!"

 _By the Angel . . . we don't have time for this!_ Stepping forward, Jace glared down at Simon. "Move."

Luckily, Simon didn't need to be told twice. The vampire scrambled backward just as Jace struck out, kicking the iron bars hard. He could feel the impact radiate up his leg as the metal groaned before collapsing inward and— _holy shit, I didn't think that would actually work!_ At least not with just one kick. With the resounding crash of the bars hitting the stone floor reverberating out of the room, Simon's friend let out a strangled cry.

"Samuel!" Simon shouted in horror. "Are you all right?"

"GO AWAY!"

Was this guy for real? The building was on fire—it would likely crumble . . . and he wanted to what . . . cozy into a floor that had suddenly been heated free of charge and sniff at the tantalizing smell of _Eau de Acrid Smoke?_ Maybe make a s'more? Jace shook his head, glaring at Simon. "You just had to make a crazy jail friend, didn't you? You couldn't just count ceiling tiles or tame a pet mouse like normal prisoners do?"

Annoyed, Jace didn't bother waiting for whatever less than witty retort the vampire might come up with as he got down on his stomach and pushed himself through the cell window. Dropping to his feet, he heard Clary yell out his name but ignored it as he glanced around the tiny room. The smoke was worse in here than he had thought, and it took a second for his eyes to adjust. There was the cot and . . . and _there._ Moving forward quickly, Jace reached out and grabbed the sack of rags that had taken to quaking in the corner. "Up you go,"he said through his teeth, pulling the man to his feet.

"No," the man whispered, trying to turn away.

 _"For fucks sake,"_ Jace hissed with exasperation. "Look. We're not leaving— _I'm_ not leaving. But I also don't care to burn alive down here, so _move your ass!"_ And then he was shoving Samuel toward the window, coughing as the smoke got thicker. To his surprise, the crazy guy didn't fight it and a moment later, Simon and Alec were hauling the rag man through the small square.

Once Jace was sure that Samuel was safely out and deposited onto the lawn, he reached out of window and felt two incredibly different hands slip into his. Once was smooth and cool and masculine. The other one was slender and warm and . . . Jace swallowed, squeezing Clary's hand just a little tighter than he did the vampire's as they began to pull him up. He knew it was it was sad, the way he lived for these moments—even it it _was_ while escaping a burning building. But then they slammed his head on the stone ledge and Jace suddenly wasn't as fond of this particular moment.

 _"Son of a bitch,"_ he blurted out uncontrollably, his head throbbing. _Okay, that's enough helping from the peanut gallery,_ Jace thought, jerking his hands out of theirs so that he could pull himself the rest of the way out. Unfortunately, his leg got hung up on the ledge wrong, sending a sharp pain shooting through it. This was _seriously_ not going as planned. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself out the rest of the way and rolled over on the grass, rubbing his sore thigh. "Ouch," he said out loud to no one in particular as he stared up at the smoke filled sky, drawing in slow breaths of the crisp night air. "I think I pulled something." Pushing himself up, he noticing that his fingers were scrapped and bleeding— _now how the hell did I do that?_ —before looking over to where rag man was still hiding his face and rocking back and forth under the gazes of the others. "Is he okay?"

Alec glanced at Jace unsure. "I think somethings wrong with him." _You don't say._ Leaning down, Alec made to touch the rag man's shoulder, but the crazy bastard jerked away as if he had been burned, nearly falling over as he did. "Leave me alone," he begged, his voice rough. "Please leave me alone, Alec."

And Jace froze at the same time that his _parabatai_ did, his adrenaline picking up as his heart skipped a beat. What had the man just said? _How . . .?_ Had the rag man heard them say Alec's name at some point? But no . . . Jace was positive that they had not called Alec by his name since coming here. And yet . . . _Who are you?_ Glancing up at his brother, Jace saw that his _parabatai_ seemed to be thinking the same thing.

His brothers body was rigid as he stared down at the rag man, a frown on his face. "What did you just say?" And then he met Jace's eyes, a question burning blatantly in them. _Who is this man?_ Slowly, Jace got to his feet, his head shaking. _I don't know._ But what he _did_ know, was that something wasn't right. Vaguely, Jace heard the vampire talking, but he wasn't listening enough to care. His eyes had slipped down to the pile of rags with suspicion. "Samuel," Alec said cautiously. "Move your hands away from your face."

But the man was already digging his feet into the ground, his head tucking down lower beneath the blankets. "No," he said desperately, his whole body shaking. "No, please. No."

At this, the vampire moved forward defensively, glaring at Alec. "Alec! Can't you see he isn't well?"

 _Oh, he's not well all right._ Jace moved to stand by his brother, hearing Clary whisper as he passed, "Simon, there's something wrong."

Hadn't Jace thought something was off about him the first time he had stumbled upon him the other night? Something familiar? Having been preoccupied at the time, he had not thought much about it . . . but now? He met Alec's eyes, blue and gold flashing together as one. Pushing back his hair, Jace swallowed hard looking down at the rag man. "Shadowhunter," he said firmly. "Show us your face."

And he did.

The man, however reluctantly, dropped his hands and Jace felt his whole body go still. _No. This couldn't be._ He was thinner than Jace remembered— _how . . .how could this be possible?_ And he was grayer, having grown a patchy beard—but all the same, there was no mistaking the man in front of them. Opening his mouth, Jace let out the faintest breath of a whisper. _"Hodge."_

Everyone was silent then, slowly turning to stare the man on the ground. Jace couldn't tear his eyes away from his once tutor; the man he had trusted; the man who had taught him and raised him— _the man who sold me out to Valentine._ The thought was a harsh one. This was the the man who had known all along who Jace was and never told him. Had he known _what_ he was? Around him, people were talking, but their voices all ran together. Simon had spoken . . . Alec had retorted . . . and still Jace could only stare at the wretched looking man on the ground. _Did you know what I was?_ Jace's body was trembling; and the rage—oh dear God the rage.

Hodge took a staggering breath, meeting the golden eyes that bore down on him. "Jace," and then he glanced toward Alec and Jace bit down hard on his cheek. _Don't you do it. Don't you even look at him. You have no right_ . . . Jace's fists were clenching, his blood rushing in his ears as Hodge continued on. "Alec . . . I'm so sorry."

Jace snapped, his body exploding forward as he released his small silver dagger from his belt. And then he was standing over Hodge, the blade at his throat as he glared down hatefully at the man who betrayed him . . . betrayed his adopted family. The man who had know the truth about Jace. "I don't want your apologies," Jace spit shakily, though his grip on the blade was even. "I want a reason why I shouldn't kill you right now, right here."

"Jace." It was Alec, the alarm in his voice palpable. "Jace, wait."

But it wasn't enough to still his blade. Behind him, a thunderous explosion shook the building, the heat of the fire growing more intense against Jace's back and lighting up Hodges dirty emaciated face. But he didn't turn to look away. He kept his eyes on the pathetic excuse of human flesh. Jace shook his head. If his father had trusted this man enough to care for his son, then it would only make sense that he would trust him enough with the truth. _How much did you know?_ "No." The word came out calmer than he felt, his face an expressionless mask as he looked down at Hodge. "You knew what my father did to me," he spit, the accusation in his voice undeniable. "Didn't you." Jace had to know the answer—he wanted to hear the truth. He wanted to hear Hodge call him what he was— _a demon_. "You knew all about his dirty little secret."

"What are you talking about?" Alec asked from behind him. "What's going on?"

But Jace ignored him, glaring hatefully at the man in front of him. _Say it. Tell them all what I am!_ Hodge swallowed, his eyes pleading. But there was more. Jace could see the truth in his eyes. He knew.

"Jonathan . . ."

Jace bit back his disgust at the name, his grip on the blade tighter still. He felt himself seething with anger. "You've always known, and you never said anything. All those years at the Institute, and you never said anything." _Give me a reason not to kill you._

"I—I wasn't sure." _Bullshit!_ But Hodge only shook his head, as if he had heard Jace's thoughts. "When you haven't seen a child since he was a baby—I wasn't sure who you were, much less _what_ you were."

"Jace?" Alec asked uncertainly just as Clary let out an almost inaudible breath. But Jace heard her. Jace would always hear her. He loved her. He was in love with her. She was his sister and because of what he was . . . he couldn't even pretend like what he felt was wrong, though he knew he should. Because of what his father had done to him.

 _And you knew._ "I don't believe you." Jace's voice was like an arctic blade. "You knew Valentine wasn't dead. He must have told you—"

"He told me nothing!" Hodge cried out, cutting him off. Jace had pressed the tip of the dagger against the flesh of his throat now. "When the Lightwoods informed me that they were taking in Michael Wayland's son, I hadn't heard a word from Valentine since the Uprising. I had thought he had forgotten me. I'd even prayed he was dead, but I never knew. And then, the night before you arrived, Hugo came with a message for me from Valentine. _'The boy is my son.'_ That's all it said." Hodge took a haggard breath, his eyes pleading. "I had no idea whether to believe him. I thought I'd know—I thought I'd know, just looking at you, but there was nothing, _nothing,_ to make me sure. And I thought that this was a trick of Valentine's, but what trick? What was he trying to do? You had no idea, that was clear enough to me, but as for Valentine's purpose—"

"You should have told me what I was." Jace snapped desperately. _You should have told me. You should have . . ._ "I could have done something about it, then. Killed myself maybe." _Saved everyone this pain—Alec . . . Clary . . . myself._

But Hodge only shook his head, his tired eyes refusing to look away from Jace's pained ones. "I wasn't sure," he exhaled. "And in the times that I wondered—I thought, perhaps, that upbringing might matter more than blood—that you could be taught—"

"Taught what?" Jace cut him off incensed. "Not to be a monster?" And then he swallowed hard, staring down at the dagger that he had pressed steadily to the traitors throat. When he spoke again, his voice was harder—flatter. "You should know better. He made a crawling coward out of you, didn't he? And you weren't a little helpless kid when he did it. You could have fought back."

"I—" Hodge swallowed as his eyes dropped to the ground. "I tried to do my best by you."

 _No._ "Until Valentine came back," Jace scowled. "And then you did everything he asked of you—you gave me to him like I was dog that had belonged to him once, that he'd asked you to look after for a few years—"

"And then you left." It was Alec, coming to stand beside Jace. And his voice just as hard. Just as unforgiving. "You left us all. Did you really think you could hide here in Alicante?"

"I didn't come here to hide," Hodge sighed. "I came here to stop Valentine."

"You cant expect us to believe that," Alec snapped. "You've always been on Valentine's side. You could have chosen to turn your back on him—"

"I could never have chosen that!" Hodge cried out, his matted head shaking. "Your parents were given their chance for a new life—I was never given that! I was trapped in the Institute for fifteen years—"

"The Institute was our home!" Alec shouted Hodge down, stepping toward their old mentor threateningly. Jace cast a sweeping glance up at his brother, surprised at the anger he was hearing. Not that it wasn't justified . . . but Alec was usually always the logical one. Jace's _parabatai_ shook his head. "Was if really so bad living with us—being part of our family?"

"Not because of you," Hodge said heavily. "I loved you children. But you were _children._ And no place that you are never allowed to leave can be a home. I went weeks sometimes without speaking to another adult. No other Shadowhunter would trust me." _Obviously for good reason._ "Not even your parents truly liked me; they tolerated me because they had no choice. I could never marry. Never have children of my own. Never have a life—" _Because you have so much of a life now._ "—And eventually you children wold have been grown and gone, and then I wouldn't even have had that. I lived in fear, as much as I lived at all."

 _You're a pathetic coward,_ Jace's face twisted at the thought. And this was what, some last ditch effort to make amends? There was no way he could make up for what had been done. None. Alec could have been spared the shame of having a demon as a _parabatai,_ and Clary . . . she could have had a normal life—one without a brother who was desperately in love with her. Biting the inside of his cheek, Jace shook his head hard. "You can't make us feel sorry for you," he said through clenched teeth. "Not after what you did." _What you could have stopped._ "And what the hell were you afraid of, spending all your time in the library? Dust mites? We were the ones who went out and fought demons!"

But it was Simon who answered the question. "He was afraid of Valentine." And the vampire sighed, stepping forward cautiously and eyeing the blade at Hodges throat as if he thought Jace might decide to use it on him instead. "Don't you get it—"

"Shut up vampire," Jace warned, his eyes flashing dangerously. _Before I_ do _use this blade on you._ "This isn't in any way about you."

But Hodge was looking at Simon, too—as if really seeing the vampire for who and what he was. "Not Valentine exactly," he said. "My own weakness where Valentine was concerned. I knew he would return someday. I knew he would make a bid for power again, a bid to rule the Clave. And I knew what he could offer me. Freedom from my curse. A life. A place in the world. I could have been a Shadowhunter again, in his world. I could never be one again in this one." And Jace's lip curled in disgust at the coward in front of him. If he had to choose between death and being a Shadowhunter under Valentine's rule . . . he would choose death. Taking a breath, Hodge continued. "And I knew I would be too weak to refuse him if he offered it."

"And look at the life you got," Jace hissed with disgust. "Rotting in the cells of the Gard. Was it worth it, betraying us?"

Hodge met Jace's eyes with his own tired ones. "You know the answer to that." _I don't think I do._ "Valentine took the curse off me. He'd sworn he would, and he did. I thought he'd bring me back to the Circle, or what remained of it then. He didn't. Even he didn't want me. I knew there would be no place for me in his new world. And I knew I'd sold out everything I did have for a lie." _Oh, boo fucking hoo._ Looking down at his grime stained hands, Hodge sighed. "There was only one thing I had left—one chance to make something other than an utter waste out of my life. After I heard that Valentine had killed the Silent Brothers—that he had the Mortal Sword—I knew he would go after the Mortal Glass next. I knew he needed all three of the Instruments. And I knew the Mortal Glass was here in Idris."

"Wait," Alec cut in, holding up his hand. "The Mortal Glass? You mean, you know where it is? And who has it?"

"No one has it," Hodge said, shaking his head. "No one could own the Mortal Glass. No Nephilim, and no Downworlder."

Jace looked at the people around him—Clary, Alec, and Simon—and saw that they were all watching Hodge with rapt attention. They weren't really buying this, were they? "You really did go crazy out there, didn't you? Jace said, jerking his head toward the burning cell.

"Jace." It was Clary, and Jace eyes snapped to her as they always would. But she was looking up at the burning building anxiously. "The fire is spreading. We should get out of here. We can talk down in the city—"

But Hodge cared about as much about the burning building as Jace did. "I was locked in the Institute for fifteen years," he continued as though Clary had not spoken, repeating his previous words and capturing Jace's attention once more. "I couldn't put so much as a hand or foot outside. I spent all my time in the library, researching ways to remove the curse the Clave had put on me. I learned that only a Mortal Instrument could reverse it. I read book after book telling the story of the mythology of the Angel, how he rose from the lake bearing the Mortal Instruments and gave them to Jonathan Shadowhunter, the first Nephilim, and how there were three of them; Cup, Sword, and Mirror—"

"We know all this," Jace interjected irritably. If he wanted a history lesson, the tutor that had offered him up on a platter to a shark would not be the place he would choose to go get one. Besides . . . "You taught it to us."

"You think you know all of it, but you don't," said Hodge. "As I went over and over the various versions of the histories, I happened again and again on the same illustration, the same image—we've all seen it—the Angel rising out of the lake with the Sword in one hand and the Cup in the other. I could never understand why the Mirror wasn't pictured. Then I realized. The Mirror is the lake. The lake is the Mirror. They are one and the same."

At that, Jace couldn't hide his surprise, his blade lowering a fraction as he looked down at the man he had once admired. He knew the picture that Hodge spoke of well—had seen it countless of times. It was one of the most popular pieces of Shadowhunter art. But . . . "Lake Lyn?"

"Exactly," Hodge said, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "And I realized the Clave wasn't aware of this, that the knowledge had been lost to time. Even Valentine didn't know—"

He was cut off as part of the Gard collapsed, fire and smoke exploding upward with a deafening roar. Just about everyone spun to look—everyone but Jace, who was still staring down at Hodge. He was still angry . . . but Jace wasn't sure just how angry anymore.

"Jace," Alec said, his voice nervous as he stared at the crumbling building. "Jace, we have to get out of here." And then he turned to Hodge. "Get up," he growled, grabbing at their old tutors arm. "You can tell the Clave what you just told us." As if unsurprised by Alec's demand, and resigned to his fate, Hodge didn't fight it as Alec jerked him unsteadily to his feet. And Jace watched silently, thinking about Hodge's words—his reasons for doing what he had done. He just wasn't buying it. The bastard didn't care about what he'd done . . . he only cared that it hadn't gone his way. If Valentine had welcomed Hodge back, he would not be here right now. He'd have probably even told Valentine all about the Mirror. It was his father's one mistake it would seem, banishing the one who knew the truth about what he wanted. But Jace also knew his father wasn't stupid. So if he found the Mirror . . . what then? What was the point of claiming them? Lowering his blade to his side, Jace watched as his _parabatai_ began to shove their old tutor forward. Hodge knew, Jace realized. He knew what would happen if the Mortal Instruments were reunited—why Valentine wanted them so badly . . . and this might be their only chance to find out.

Jace stepped quickly in front of his brother and the old man. "If Valentine gets the Mortal Glass," he said slowly. "What then?"

Alec looked exasperated. "Jace, not now—"

But Jace was already cutting him off, shaking his head. "If he tells it to the Clave, we'll never hear it from them," he said. "To them we're just children. But Hodge owes us this." And then he met the eyes of his old tutor. The man he had trusted once. "You said you realized you had to stop Valentine. Stop him doing what? What does the Mirror give him the power to do?"

Hodge's eyes went wide, like he was afraid of the question. "I can't—"

But Jace was having none of it, his hand tight on the dagger at his side that was reflecting the firelight "And no lies. Because maybe for every lie you tell me, I'll cut off a finger. Or two." _Try me, if you don't believe me._

But it was Alec who responded, looking shocked. "Jace," he said slowly, meeting the hard unforgiving gaze of his _parabatai._ "No. This is what your father's like. It's not what you're like."

Jace bit down on his cheek, tasting blood. "Alec," he began slowly, his face hard. "You don't really know what I'm like." _Because you're right. I'm not like my father. He made sure I was worse._ But he couldn't bring himself to say that last part. Couldn't bare the thought of seeing the shame in the eyes of his brother. Not yet.

"Jace." It was Clary this time, and his body went still at the sound of his name on her lips. "Alec is right—" And Jace closed his eyes. She knew the truth. She knew what he was. And yet she was unwavering as she went on. "We can take Hodge down to the Hall and he can tell the Clave what he's just told us—"

"If he'd been willing to tell the Clave, he would have done it already," Jace cut her off angrily, still glaring at Hodge. Or maybe he was just avoiding the gaze of the Idris meadows he could feel on him. _Please Clary . . . you know the truth. And so does he. Please understand . . ._ "The fact that he didn't proves he's a liar."

"The Clave isn't to be trusted!" Hodge insisted desperately and Jace nearly snorted. _Well, I'm not gonna completely disagree with you on that one._ "There are spies in it—Valentine's men—I couldn't tell them where the Mirror is. If Valentine found the Mirror, he would be—"

But what Valentine would be, they never found out. In that moment something silver pierced through the air, slicing through the night, and struck home deep in Hodge's chest. _What the . . ._ Jace spun around in shock, his body on high alert as he tried to see where it had come from, his own dagger still at his side. He could feel his blood rushing through his body. Biting down hard, he turned back in time to see his old tutor stumbling backward, grasping at a dagger, as Alec lowered him to the ground. Blood was spreading along the rags.

His brother cast an accusatory glance up at him "Jace, why—"

 _You think I did this?!_ Jace took a step back, his grip on his own knife hard. "I didn't—" he shook his head, his eyes meeting Clary's. Did she think he had done this, too? She only stared back in horror. "I . . ."

And then he was looking past her. Something had moved. Clary and Simon spun to look as well. With narrowed eyes, Jace took a small step forward just as a shadow emerged. Tall, dark . . . and Jace felt his heart stop, confusion and shock beating through his veins as Sebastian stepped into the light, the fire of the burning building reflecting in his black eyes.

 _"Sebastian?"_ Clary breathed, her surprise matching Jace's.

And Jace blinked. Turning his head wildly, he saw that Hodge was looking up at the Verlac boy with wide terrified eyes. Meeting Alec's gaze briefly, Jace turned back to the boy, unable to shake the shock he felt. But it was more than that. It was anger and disdain and . . . "You," he said slowly, trying to understand it. "You did this?"

"I had to do it," Sebastian said calmly, meeting Jace's eyes. There was nothing there. No emotion. "He would have killed you."

And Jace snapped. "With what?" he shouted, his voice cracking with anger as he gestured back to the man bleeding in Alec's arms. "He didn't even have a weapon—"

"Jace," Alec called suddenly. "Come here. Help me with Hodge."

Biting the inside of his cheek, Jace glared at Sebastian—who only stood there mumbling again about how Hodge would have killed them. _You're lucky I'm needed._ Jace wanted to lunge at the boy. To beat him and . . . and . . . shaking his head, Jace sheathed his dagger before he lost control of himself and used it. Taking a step back, he turned and kneeled down next to Alec. Hodge was shaking, blood coming from his mouth.

"Take the stele from my pocket," Alec said quickly. "Try an _iratze—_ " Jace was plunging his hand into Alec's jacket before his brother could finish his sentence, his fingers wrapping around the stele. Pulling it out, he looked down at Hodge, who had started squirming in Alec's arms as he stared up at Sebastian. "Hodge—" Alec met Jace's eyes nervously as he tightened his grip on the old man. "Hodge, hold still."

But Hodge wasn't listening. It was as though he couldn't hear them. He just kept darting his head back and forth between Jace and Sebastian in terror—the boy who had threatened to kill him, and the one who had actually tried. Two people he probably never wanted to see standing over him. _But I didn't do it,_ Jace thought desperately. _But I wanted to._ He had wanted to kill him the moment he saw him and realized who he was. And he would have too, had Alec and Clary not been there to stop him. Biting down, Jace tried to bring the stele down on Hodges skin, but Hodge slapped it away.

"No," he managed to get out with a haggard, terrified breath. He was still staring back and forth between Jace and Sebastian. "Jonathan—"

And Jace cringed. Even now. Even knowing who and what he was . . . he still hated the name. And he especially hated hearing it from Hodge—despite all he had done. "Jace," he corrected, almost pleaded. "Call me Jace."

And finally Hodge's eyes stopped darting wildly to rest on Jace—truly seeing him. It was a look of desperation and fear and something—something more. With what Jace guessed must have taken a lot of strength, Hodge lifted a trembling finger and pointed at him. "Not you."

Jace's heart dropped, the stele going slack in his hand as he sat back on his feet. It was like being back on Valentine's boat all over again with the Inquisitor pointing at him and saying something he couldn't understand. He really wished they would stop doing that. "Alec," he said, keeping his voice even. "Do the _iratze_ —I don't think he wants me to touch him." Could he blame the man? He had just threatened to cut off his fingers. But as he reached over his dying tutor to hand his brother the stele, Hodge's hand shot up, grabbing desperately at Jace's jacket sleeve and pulling him down. His eyes were wide, unrelenting. And as he opened his mouth, his breath rattled in that way only death could make it do.

"You were . . . never . . ."

He coughed, blood spraying from his mouth and hitting Jace. But Jace didn't move—didn't pull away. _I was never what?_ Jace thought wretchedly. He would not find out, however as he watched his old tutor roll his eyes back, the light leaving them for good as his hand dropped from Jace's jacket. His body went slack in Alec's arms. _I was never what?!_

"Vale, Hodge Starkweather," Alec breathed, reaching over to close his eyes.

"He doesn't deserve that—" and Jace's head snapped up, his blood boiling as rage flooded him. Sebastian was standing there next to Clary—where had the vampire gone?—a look of contempt on his face as he stared down at Alec. "He wasn't a Shadowhunter; he was a traitor. He doesn't deserve the last words."

Setting Hodge down gently, Alec rose slowly to his feet his stormy eyes flashing dangerously as he glared at the Verlac boy. Jace had never seen his _parabatai_ look so terrifying, though he knew that Alec had always had the potential. Still, it even took Jace by surprise at how ramrod straight his brother was—how close he was to losing his shit. "You know nothing about it," Alec said coldly, as Jace got to his own feet. "You killed an unarmed man, a Nephilim. You're a murderer."

Sebastian sneered, seemingly unmoved by Alec's anger, though the pounding in his throat gave him away. Jace's eyes narrowed just as Verlac took a step closer. "You think I don't know who that was?" he asked, pointing at Hodge. And something told Jace that he knew exactly who Hodge was. "Starkweather was in the Circle. He betrayed the Clave then and was cursed for it. He should have died for what he did, but the Clave was lenient—and where did it get them? He betrayed us all again when he sold the Mortal Cup to Valentine just to get his curse lifted—a curse he deserved." His chest was heaving now. But there was something else. Something Jace couldn't put his finger on. And how did he know all this? Crossing his arms, Jace watched—listened—as the boy continued. "I shouldn't have done it, but you can't say he didn't deserve it."

Clary spun on the boy at his words, her ruby curls flying. "How do you know so much about Hodge?" She shook her head, her own eyes blazing with both horror and anger. Yet, Jace still felt that Sebastian knew more. _What are you hiding?_ "And what are you doing here," she snapped. "I thought you agreed to stay back at the Hall."

It was the only time since his arrival, that Sebastian actually seemed uncertain about how to answer. "You were taking so long," he said, casting an anxious gaze at Clary. "I got worried. I thought you might need my help."

But she was having none of it. "And so you decided to help us by _killing the guy were talking to?"_ She pressed, her Idris eyes flashing. "Because you thought he had a shady past? Who—who does that? It doesn't make any sense."

"That's because he's lying." Jace said finally, his eyes never leaving Sebastian's face—the tightening of his jaw, the tick in his muscles, the blatant disregard in his eyes. "And not well. I thought you'd be a little faster on your feet there, Verlac."

Sebastian didn't look away, meeting Jace's calculated look with one of his own. "I don't know what you mean, Morgenstern."

"It means," Alec stepped in. "That if you really think what you did was justified, you won't mind coming with us to the Accords Hall and explaining yourself to the Council. Will you?"

No one spoke, all eyes on Sebastian as they waited. And then the boy smiled that same stupid smile he had used to charm Jace's family when they had first gotten here—the same smile that had irritated Jace. And it irritated him now. "Of course not," he grinned, looking at each other them with his black expressionless eyes. _No, not quite as expressionless as you're trying to seem, are you?_ Jace realized catching the subtle humorous glint. It was like Sebastian thought this was a game, and Jace placed a hand on his blade. "Of course," Sebastian continued, cocking his head, "it is a little odd that you're so upset that I killed a man when Jace was planning on cutting his fingers off one by one."

"He wouldn't have done it," Alec said flatly, and Jace swallowed. Wouldn't he? He had meant it at the time . . . and Sebastian seemed to realize that. And he was still smiling. Jace shook his head, angry now. He would wipe that stupid grin off his face.

"You—" Jace spit through his teeth, pointing at Verlac. "You have no idea what you're talking about." But even as he said it, he wasn't sure if his anger was at the boys words or at the knowing look he had given him.

Regardless, Sebastian was unmoved by Jace's anger. "Or maybe," Sebastian pressed on, taking a step toward Jace as if no one had spoken—a look of pure satisfaction on his face. "You're really just angry because I kissed your sister. Because she wanted me."

Jace froze, his heart colliding into his ribcage. _She had . . . they had . . . No. That's a lie._ His heart was jack hammering now, his blood and adrenaline colliding in a vicious death match inside his body. And Jace had to work hard from keeping any emotion from showin on his face. _It's a lie. She wouldn't . . ._ Behind Sebastian, Jace heard Clary's intake of breath. "I did not!" She cried out indignantly. And for the smallest of seconds, Jace felt his heart slow. But then . . . "Want you, I mean." And Jace's felt something inside of him snap.

"She has this little habit, you know—" Sebastian grinned at Jace, who was fighting to keep himself from lunging. To keep from showing how this was effecting him. "—the way she gasps when you kiss her, like she's surprised. It's rather endearing; you must have noticed it."

 _He knows how I feel about Clary_. Jace's stomach dropped. _How could you possibly know?_ And he must have known how Clary felt about him . . . or had felt—Jace's pulse was pounding in his ears. She had kissed Sebastian? She had to have—he knew how she kissed, not that Jace would ever admit that the boy was right—or how that tiny gasp was one of the things he loved about kissing her. He felt nauseous. Jace bit down on his cheek, fighting with himself now as shock completely rooted him in place. _She's your sister,_ he told himself. "My sister—"

 _"Your sister,"_ Sebastian echoed curiously. "Is she? Because you two don't act like it." _Stop._ "You think other people can't see the way you look at each other?" _Shut up._ "You think you're hiding the way you feel?" Jace cast a wretched glance at Clary who looked completely wrecked and it nearly undid him. "You think everyone doesn't think its sick and unnatural? Because it is."

"That's enough." Jace, his voice like stretched wire as he glared venomously at the boy.

"Why are you doing this?" Clary breathed with raw emotion. "Sebastian, why are you saying all these things?"

And Sebastian laughed, turning Jace's blood cold. "Because I finally can," he said turning to Clary. "You've no idea what it's been like, being around the lot of you these past few days, having to pretend I could stand you. That the sight of you didn't make me sick. You," he rounded back on Jace, "every second you're whining on and on about how you daddy didn't love you. Well, who could blame him? And you," he turned back on Clary, and Jace felt his muscles twitch. "You stupid little bitch—giving that priceless book away to a half-breed warlock; have you got a single cell in that tiny head of yours?" Jace's head jerked as the boy turned to Alec. "And you," he sneered with disgust. "I think we all know what's wrong with _you._ They shouldn't let your kind in the Clave. You're disgusting."

Jace bit down as his _parabatai_ went stone still next to him, his face blanching. If Jace thought he had hated Sebastian before, it was nothing compared to now. Luckily, the shock of the boys words were beginning to wear off, as though he were being slowly defrosted. _And did you really just call my sister a bitch?_ Jace's deadly eyes snapped to Clary as she took a small step forward. "Pretend you could stand us?" she repeated, staring at Sebastian questioningly. Jace could almost see what she saw when she looked at the boy—the dark hair and angelic smile. "But why would you have to pretend that unless you were . . . unless you were spying on us . . ." she trailed off, blinking, her full lips popping open. "Unless you were a spy for Valentine."

"And finally they get it," Sebastian said, his features twisting cruely. "I swear there are utterly lightless demon dimensions out there that are less dim than the bunch of you."

"We may not be all that bright," Jace said slowly, his voice barely above a deadly whisper. "But at least we're alive."

At his words, Sebastian glanced back at Jace, his eyes dripping with contempt. "I'm alive."

"Not for long."

And Jace exploded forward, the dagger in his hands. He knew he had moved fast—faster than anyone could. He was a monster—a demon—and for once, he would embrace it long enough to kill Sebastian. Time slowed as Sebastian met Jace's venomous gaze with a smile. A smile? And then Sebastian was moving with the same speed, if not faster than, Jace— _this wasn't possible._ But before Jace could think long on it, he felt his dagger fly from his hand as his arm was twisted backward. And then he was flying, having been thrown face first and with the force of a mack truck into the stone wall of the burning Gard.

Somewhere behind him, he heard Clary scream as he crashed the ground. Rolling over, his head swimming, he saw his world flying at Sebastian. _No . . ._ And he saw Sebastian smack her away as though she were nothing. _No . . ._

And then everything went dark.

A scream woke him up.

 _What the actual fuck!_ Jace's head was pounding and he could barely open one of his eyes. Where was he? Another shout. Jace grimaced and turned his head and saw— _Alec!_ He was lying on the ground breathing raggedly, his hands at his throat—like he was trying to draw in a breath. Jace felt his heart stagger as if a knife had pierced it. And then he saw Clary. She was crawling along the grass, a dark trickle coming from beneath her hair and running down her cheek as she made her way slowly toward—

 _Simon._

The vampire was back and was struggling with Sebastian, his arms wrapped tightly around the Verlac boy. Impressively, the vampire was holding his own—having gotten in a few hits, himself. No one was paying attention to Jace. Biting down on the pain to keep from crying out, Jace pushed himself up and removed his seraph blade from his belt. How had the boy moved so fast? He limped forward slowly, clutching at his side as he struggled to see out of his one good eye. He could tell his whole face was swollen, and it hurt like hell. He took another staggering step, willing his legs not to buckle under him. _How had he moved faster than me?_ And then another step. Whispering, the seraph blade shot to life, glowing in the darkness just as Sebastian got to his feet and kicked Simon in the ribs hard enough that Jace could hear them cracking.

"You foul little tick," Sebastian spit, lifting his foot—ready to deliver another blow.

And then Jace was there, the blade lifted to the spot on the boys back that Jace knew would sever his spine and pierce his heart. "I wouldn't." His voice was soft. Deadly. And Sebastian went still, his muscles twitching angrily at having been taken by surprise. The pain of holding the blade was excruciating, but Jace didn't show it, refusing to let his hand waiver. "I've never killed a human being with one of these before—but I'm wiling to try."

Ever so slightly, Sebastian turned his head to look back at him—the hatred in his eyes running so deep that Jace could almost feel it. _The feeling's mutual, asshole._ Jace thought, unmoving. Looking back down at the vampire, Sebastian spat. _"Nu cred că pentru o secundă pe care le-ați câștigat."_

 _We'll see._ But before Jace could do much more, Sebastian turned and was gone—his shadow disappearing into the trees as he moved as quickly and as silently as the wind. Jace let out a breath— _how was that possible?_ Somewhere nearby, Clary screamed out and he turned to look a her, his chest constricting as she made to stand up but couldn't. Dropping to her knees, she rolled over and laid on her back. Jace was at her side within seconds. Kneeling in the grass next to her, he bit the inside of his cheek as he looked her over. Her pupils were blown wide, but the cut on her forehead was not nearly as bad as it had first seemed. He wanted to reach out—to touch her—but Sebastian's words rang through his head like a bad migraine. Or maybe that really _was_ just a bad migraine—he had just had his face plowed into a stone building after all. Nearby, Alec and Simon moved closer, his _parabatai_ handing him a stele. Taking her arm gently, Jace drew the healing rune, his thumb rubbing over the black Mark softly. _  
_

Blinking, she looked up at Jace in wonder, making his heart thud painfully. "My head . . ."

"You have a concussion," he said softly, getting to his feet. "The _iratze_ should help, but we ought to get you to the Clave doctor. Head injuries can be tricky." Handing Alec back his stele, he frowned down at Clary. "Do you think you can stand up?"

Clary nodded at the question, but when she tried, it became apparent that she hadn't meant it. Before Jace could move forward to help her, however, Simon was there. And Jace watched, his jaw clenching, as the vampire pulled her as gently as he could to her feet, allowing her to lean heavily into him. But all Jace could think was that it should have been him helping her. _He_ should be the one doing that. He should be able to do that without . . .

He heard Sebastian's words again. _You think other people can't see the way you look at each other. You think you're hiding the way you feel?_ And then he heard Izzy's words. _We see your pain, Jace_ _—we feel it._ Jace scowled, just as Clary grimaced in pain. She was hurt—Sebastian had hurt her, and Jace had been unable to stop him. The thought was a torturous one. "You shouldn't have attacked Sebastian like that," he said trying to control his tone and failing. But didn't she realize what could have happened? She could have been injured far worse! She could have been— "You didn't have a weapon. What were you thinking?"

But it was Alec who spoke, coming to her defense. "What we were all thinking," he said flatly. "That he'd just thrown you through the air like a softball, Jace." And then his brother shook his head. "I've never seen anyone get the better of you like that."

"I—" Jace swallowed, unsure of what to say. What _could_ he say? "He surprised me." And then he shook his head, his blood matted hair falling into his eyes as he tried to wrap his head around what had just happened. "He must have had some kind of special training. I wasn't expecting it." But even as he said it, he knew it wasn't that. That kind of speed, strength, and agility was not something you could just learn. Jace should know.

"Yeah, well," Simon cut in, frowning as he rubbed at his side. "I think he kicked in a couple of my ribs. It's okay," he added quickly, when Clary gasped. "They're healing. But Sebastian's definitely strong." _Tell me about it._ "Really strong." _It was a figure of speech._ Simon looked at Jace, his dark eyes unsure. "How long do you think he was standing there in the shadows?"

Frowning, Jace cast his gaze toward the forest. He didn't even want to think about that. If Sebastian really was a spy for Valentine and had heard Hodge talking about the Mirror . . . it could be bad. Really bad. Instead, he said. "Well, the Clave will catch him—and curse him, probably. I'd like to see them put the same curse on him they put on Hodge. That would be poetic justice."

Simon nodded before turning his head to spit. "His blood tastes foul—like poison."

"I suppose we can add that to his list of charming qualities," Jace retorted, rolling his eyes. But at his words, Clary flushed a dark red. Biting down, he looked away. He had meant it at as a joke, but . . . there were some here who had indeed found him charming. _Don't think about that,_ he told himself firmly. _If you value your sanity at all—don't think about that._ "I wonder what else he was up to tonight," he said instead.

But Alec only shrugged tersely. "We need to get back to the Hall," he said anxiously. "Can you walk, Clary?

They were giving each other a look, and Jace felt like he was missing something. Taking a step away from Simon, Clary nodded. "I can walk." And then she was looking past them all. "What about Hodge? We can't just leave him."

"We have to," Alec said a bit impatiently, and Jace cast a more studious gaze at his brother. His throat was red and . . . _where is your bow?_ Scanning the grass, he saw it not far from where they stood, broken. What had Sebastian done to him? Jace remembered he had been on the ground coughing but . . . "There'll be time to come back for him if we all survive the night."

No one spoke, then . . . but they all silently agreed. As they left the garden, Jace paused, limping over to the man that had once been his tutor—his mentor. The man who had once been his friend. Taking off his jacket, he laid it over Hodge, covering him. _You knew what I was. And yet, you said nothing. I can't forgive you for that._ Jace swallowed. _But . . . but you also treated me no different than that of Alec or Isabelle. I wish upbringing and blood really didn't matter._ And Jace thought of Clary before he sighed. _May you find the peace in death that you could not find in life. Ave Atque Vale, Hodge Starkweather._ Standing up straight, he caught sight of Clary watching him. Ducking his head, he said nothing as he passed her and Simon in order to join Alec.

They had made it halfway down the winding path before Alec spoke. "I wont ask if you're okay—"

"Good."

"—Because I know you're not."

"Which would be why you're not asking."

"Jace," Alec sighed softly. "The way you were talking up there, to Hodge. You cant think like that. Being Valentine's son, it doesn't make you a monster. Whatever he did to you when you were a kid—" Jace blanched, "—whatever he taught you, you have to see it's not your fault."

But that was exactly what being Valentine's son had made him. A monster. A demon incapable of doing anything right and destroying the lives of those around him— _whether I mean to or not._ It may not be his fault, but it also didn't change who he was. "I don't want to talk about this, Alec." He snapped viciously. _Please . . ._ "Don't ask me about it again."

Alec didn't. He said absolutely nothing to Jace as the winding path turned into the cobbled streets of the city. Looking around, Jace noticed that there were a surprising lack of demons now. In fact there were none at all. But the buildings still blazed—the smoke still billowing in the star studded sky like a smoke demon who had brought down its wrath upon the City of Glass.

"It's quiet," Alec said, looking around cautiously.

"And it doesn't stink like demons," Jace agreed. "Come on. Lets get to the Hall."

It didn't take them long to reach the Accords hall, even with Jace limping. He was still faster than the rest of them. Not surprising, the Hall was lit brightly with torches and witchlight alike—a beacon for staggering Shadowhunters and werewolves who might have been trying to find their way in the dark. Standing at the entrance, Jace heard Simon say Clary's name curiously, and he looked back to see her staring up at the sky. Slowly, she turned her head toward the vampire.

"I'm all right," she smiled. _No you're not. And neither am I._ As if hearing him, she looked up him, her lips tugging into a frown. Biting the inside of his cheek, Jace nodded slowly before turning and walking inside with his brother. More people had come while they were gone. There were injured Shadowhunters and wolves covering the floors and benches now as others ran between them hurriedly. Other were standing around, talking in terrified whispers—the shock had worn off.

"I don't see them," Alec said suddenly, and Jace didn't have to ask who he was talking about. The Lightwoods would have been back picking up Izzy and Max. Next to him, Alec was on his toes, looking over the heads of those around him. "They should be here by now but . . ."

"Jace," Simon called, grabbing his attention. He was rubbing at Clary's back, who was leaning heavily against a pillar. "I don't think she's doing so good—"

"There they are," Alec cut in, dropping back down to his feet. "Over there by the dias." And then he frowned, his eyes narrowing. "It looks like . . . "

Alec took off before finishing his sentence, pushing through the crowd in some kind of frenzied need to reach his family—parting them like the sea. What was he—

And then Jace saw.

 _No_.

His heart stopped, his breath catching.

 _No._

He ran forward quickly, desperately shoving people out of the way as he followed Alec's footsteps.

 _No, no, no._

He slammed into someone, spinning himself around in the process, but still he pushed on.

 _Please, God._

He couldn't hear, he couldn't breathe.

Skidding to halt next to Alec, his hands flew to his head—grabbing at his hair—as time sped back up.

 _"MAX"_ Izzy screamed, fighting to free herself from her mothers arms, who looked as if the world had stopped turning.

Jace watched, unable to speak.

On the ground, Robert held his youngest son's lifeless body against his chest, rocking as tears trailed silently down his cheeks.

Jace couldn't move.

Next to him, Alec's legs buckled and he hit his knees hard. Crawling across the floor, Alec's shoulders were shaking violently as he grasped at his little brothers hand.

But Jace could only stand there.

He had never felt so lost.

So defeated.

* * *

 _ **AN:** For the record, I hated writing the last part, lol. Also, "_ _Nu cred că pentru o secundă pe care le-ați câștigat." roughly translates into "Don't for a second think that you have won."_

 ** _Please Review._**


	13. Broken

**Chapter Twelve  
Broken  
**

 _"Jace . . ."_

 _Sitting up, Jace blinked into the dark. "Max? What are you—"_

 _"I had a bad dream."_

 _Pushing back his bed hair, Jace blinked with confusion. Didn't the boy have parents he could go to for this kind of thing? Why was he coming to him? But as the small Lightwood boy moved closer, Jace saw just how terrified his wide eyes were, and sighed._

 _"A bad dream, huh?" And Max nodded, half whimpering in the dark. Reaching over, Jace plucked a hard crudely carved Shadowhunter off his nightstand. It was the only thing he had brought with him from home, and he usually carried it with him everywhere. "Max, do you know what this is?" Jace asked holding it up. Max's eyes went wide at seeing it as he nodded._

 _"It's your toy."_

 _And Jace smiled. "It's more than just a toy, Max" he said softly. "This is a warrior—a Shadowhunter. There used to be a lot of them, but he's the last."_

 _"What happened to the others?" Max asked._

 _Pushing himself over on his bed, Jace pulled the blankets back. "Come on," he said, with a nod. "Let me tell you a story." And the young boy smiled, crawling onto the bed and pulling the covers to his chin. His wide eyes sparkled in the dim light as he looked up at Jace. And Jace stared in return. He had never been looked at like that before. He had never been someone's hero—he didn't even know how to be. It was definitely something he didn't think he, of all people, should be responsible for. But all the same, he couldn't help but to feel a sense of pride as well. Shaking his head, Jace drew a breath._

 _"Once upon a time, there was a boy—"_

 _"A Shadowhunter boy?"_

 _Jace's lips ticked upward. "Yes. One about your age. On the outside, this boy had a decent life, seemingly happy and never wanting for much. But on the inside . . . no one knew the dark secret he was harboring. No one knew about the cruel monster he lived with._

 _"Now you would not know from looking at the creature that it was a monster—for it was as charming and as cunning as a demon. But a monster it was. For many years the boy lived in fear of its anger and wrath, for it could be as callous and unforgiving as the sea. He would torment the boy—working him hard and disciplining him in savage and calculating ways. After a particularly brutal night, the boy lie broken in bed and prayed to the Angel for help. When the boy awoke, there before him was an army of Wooden Shadowhunters—and each one of them vowed to protect the boy. The Angel had answered his prayers._

 _"But the monster was vengeful. Seeing them, a great war took place over the boy. And when the battle was over, many of the Shadowhunters were lost—splintered and broken. But one . . . this one . . . remained. Having fought hard, the last remaining Wooden Shadowhunter stayed with the boy. And when the boy was afraid, it would come and ease his fears. At night when the boy slept, it would watch over him. It would protect him for as long as the boy needed—waiting until a day would come when the boy was no longer afraid, so that he might seek out a new child that needed him."_

 _And then Jace cast a glance down at the young boy. "That day has come, Max," he said, handing the wooden toy to the young boy._

 _Max's eyes went wide as he took the Wooden Shadowhunter in his small hands. "But this is yours, are you sure you want me to have it?"_

 _"Yes," Jace nodded. "I'm older now, and it has protected me long enough. It's yours, Max. And like me, it will watch over you—keep you safe. Keep the bad dreams away."_

 _"I—" Max stammered, his bright eyes looking up at Jace. "I'll take good care of it, Jace. I promise I wont ever lose it."_

 _._

Taking a shuddering breath, Jace opened his eyes, the memory cracking and shattering before him. He was back in the hall, where nothing had changed, but where _everything_ had changed. The people around him were moving so fast—like someone had hit the fast-forward button. And yet . . . the time drug by excruciatingly slow. Isabelle had stopped screaming, slumping into her mothers arms as the tears consumed her. Alec hadn't moved either. With his head hung, he held tight to his brothers hand. And the Lightwood parents? One look at them and you knew they would never be the same again. How could they be?

Jace's throat constricted as he looked down at Max. His glasses were dangling from his face, his eyes closed. He could have been sleeping. Jace's lips trembled. _Please be sleeping._ But he knew it was thought in vain. He was young. So young. He didn't deserve this—Max hadn't deserved any of this! _He was just a child!_

And Jace remembered when he had first come to the Institute, the one year old boy that had looked up at him with curious eyes. He could usually be found chasing Jace around after that, his chubby little legs moving him as fast as he could through the Institute halls. And Jace would laugh—it was one of the few times he did in the beginning—as he swept the innocent child off his feet and into his arms. But it wasn't until Max was five, that he really began to understand what he had meant to the young Lightwood boy. That was when Jace had given him that wooden Shadowhunter. It had been the only thing that he had taken from his home at the Manor—the only thing that had meant anything to Jace—and it was the only thing he could think of giving the boy in order to calm him at the time.

 _I failed him._

Biting down hard on his cheek, he remembered the books and the laughter and the way the boy could fall asleep anywhere. Jace would often carry him to bed when he fell asleep reading. And he thought of the other day at the pond. Max had been so excited to go out with him; so intent to learn and train and race and chase ducks . . . and do all the things a nine year old boy loved to do . . .

And now . . .? Now he was gone. Jace would no longer be able to laugh or train or tease the young boy. He wouldn't be there to have his hair ruffled or be carried to bed—he would give anything to be able to carry the boy to bed one more time.

Jace's chest tightened. He couldn't breathe.

 _"JIA!"_

The shriek brought Jace back to where he was, and he watched, unable to move, as Maryse let go of Isabelle and shot through the crowd of people. Without the support of someone holding her up, Isabelle slumped to the floor, her hands pulling at her hair. Next to him, Alec scrambled to his feet, wiping the tears from his eyes as he went after his mother.

 _"WHERE IS YOUR NEPHEW."_ Maryse screamed at the Penhallow matriarch just as Alec came up behind her, taking her elbow lightly. But Maryse jerked away roughly, her eyes wild. _"WHERE IS SEBASTIAN?"_

"I—I don't know," Jia whispered wretchedly.

 _"HE DID THIS!"_ Maryse pointed back roughly at her lifeless son. "He—" Her words were choked off as a wail of grief, loss, and despair escaped her lips. It tore through to Jace's very core, sure it would rip him apart. Distraught, Jia made to reach for the grieving woman, her eyes horrified, but Maryse slapped her away with such force and anger that Jace could see the pain shoot though Jia's eyes. She did not fight back. She only stood there, her own pain and regret on her face.

"Don't touch me," Maryse spit venomously.

"Mom," Alec pleaded taking her arm again, his voice cracking.

But Maryse didn't look at him—probably didn't even realize he was there as she glared at Jia. "My son's death is on your hands," she breathed raggedly. "You let that boy into your home . . . you . . . my son . . . _he took my baby."_

Clutching at her stomach, her knees buckled and she fell against Alec.

"I'm sorry Maryse," Jia pleaded, her own tears running down her face as her body shook violently. _"Please . . ."_

Without warning, Maryse threw herself at Jia. But Alec was quicker—casting himself in-between the two women. "Jace!" his _parabatai_ screamed at him as he wrapped his arms around his mother, holding her against him as she shrieked and clawed at him in her wild attempt to go after the other woman. "Jace— _help!"_

Turning his head slowly, Jace could see the desperation in his brother's eyes as he struggled with his mother. But he did nothing. He didn't know what to do. He felt helpless. Dropping his gaze back to the boy who lay in his father arms, he could hear Alec screaming at him again. He could hear Isabelle sobbing. And then he heard himself gasp as he saw that there, clutched in Max's hand, was the Wooden Shadowhunter he had given him all those years ago.

And like that, the cords that had been holding Jace up snapped.

 _ **######**_

It would be some time before the crowd would start to disperse. Now that the sun had come up, people were sure it was safe to go home. But it would be longer still before Jace and the Lightwoods would leave. Maryse had refused to go back to the Penhallow house—and Jace didn't think it was just due to her anger with Jia, but more because she couldn't bring herself to step inside the house in which her son had been killed. And so they had sat in the Accords Hall while she pulled some strings to get her family moved to a different house.

Bending down, Jace had had to scoop Isabelle up off the floor as she was unable to stand. Burying her face against his neck, Jace bit down as her hot tears slid down his throat and stained his shirt. Robert stayed back with Max. He wanted to make sure the appropriate plans were in place for his son's funeral. Jace felt sick at hearing that. Even worse was when he had heard someone say that Max was too young to be added to the City of Bones.

He walked out of the Accords Hall after that, Isabelle in his arms, and didn't look back.

The new house was different. It didn't have the warmth of the Penhallows residence. It didn't have the memories. And it smelt like moth balls. Stepping through the door carefully, he followed Alec silently up a set of stairs and into a room that looked straight out of the eighteen hundreds. The flowered bedspread and wallpaper . . . but then, _beggars cant be choosers._ Kneeling on the bed, Jace gently lowered Isabelle—who immediately rolled over and buried her face in the pillow.

Standing, he stared down at her. "Izzy . . . I want you to know, it's not your fault. What happened to Max . . ."

"Go away Jace," her voice cracked. "Please go away."

And he did.

Downstairs, Jace took a seat next to Alec on the old faded couch that smelled strongly of cats.

Taking his brothers hand in his, they sat in silence.

It was several hours before Maryse showed up. Walking in she paused, staring at the boys on the couch who sat hand in hand as if she were seeing them as young children again. Her chin began to quiver, her eyes watering. Seeing this, Alec gently released Jace and got to his feet.

"Mom," Alec breathed, his voice rough. Blinking quickly, Maryse held herself straight, her lips thin, as she opened her arms. Alec stepped into them, and he broke. Jace wanted so desperately to look away as his _parabatai_ mourned, but he couldn't. He could only watch as Maryse rocked her grieving son. And then, Maryse was looking at Jace from over her son's shoulder. Slowly she raised a hand, beckoning him. Jace was on his feet and across the room in seconds, folding himself into Maryse's arms with Alec.

"I love you, my boys," she breathed, her voice hitching in her throat.

And still, Jace did not cry. But he held on tighter than he had any right to.

It was several minutes before Maryse released them both, pressing her palms to their faces as she did. "Where is Isabelle?"

"She's in her room," Alec responded as used the sleeve of his sweater to wipe his eyes. "She blames herself . . ."

Maryse swallowed and nodded. "I will talk to her."

And Jace watched as she made her way up the stairs. She had only made it halfway when she grabbed at the banister and doubled over.

 _"MOM!"_ Alec was with her in a flash. But Jace . . . he couldn't be here anymore. He had to get out. He had to get away.

Running to the door he flew through it and out into the sunlight. At the end of the walk, he grabbed at the shattered witchlight lamppost, his chest heaving as he gasped in air. He couldn't breathe. Why couldn't he breathe? Why was it so hard to _fucking_ breathe?! _FUCK!_ He hated this! He hated everything! He hated Sebastian and Valentine and the Clave and the Penhallows and—he struck out, kicking the lamppost with enough force to send it crashing to the ground as the impact reverberated up his leg.

 _"Jace!"_ Alec came running out after him, his eyes bloodshot as he looked down at the broken lamppost. "What are you doing?!"

"Go away, Alec."

"No."

"Alec, _please,"_ Jace begged. He felt like he was suffocating.

But Alec was unmoving. "No!"

 _"Alec!"_

"I already lost one brother, I'm not about to lose another!" Alec practically screamed at him, and Jace blinked. But Alec only shook his head, taking a breath. _"Wither thou goest, I will go."_

"But it's not fair to you," Jace nearly shouted. "I destroy everything I touch . . . I'm cursed! Look at Clary . . . at Max. I can't live knowing that I could hurt you, too." _To love is to destroy._ "I should be out there, looking for Sebastian—making this right!

"That's a suicide mission and you know it, Jace." Alec sighed.

"So?" Jace snapped "Why _not_ risk your life if you don't want to live it anyway? Why _not_ risk your life if you'll never be happy no matter what you do?" _If you're doomed to just constantly ruin the lives of the people you love most?_

Grabbing his brother, Alec pulled him into a hug—putting everything he could into it. And Jace just stood there. He didn't fight it. He didn't pull away. It was as if the anger had drained out of him. But Alec didn't let go. _I don't deserve you._

"I'm sorry," Jace said when Alec finally released him. "I shouldn't have . . . I just don't know how . . ."

"No one does," Alec said with more wisdom than Jace had ever given him credit for. "But what I do know is that I need my _parabatai_ right now, Jace. I need _you."_

Biting down, Jace nodded roughly. "Okay."

Relieved, Alec leaned against the small gate and crossed his arms. "So I assume the streetlight had it coming?"

"It looked at me wrong," Jace retorted flatly. And then he sighed, rubbing and his neck. "I don't know what I'm doing, Alec. I don't even know why I'm here. I mean . . . I just feel so useless."

"You're here because you're family—because you're my brother, and Isabelle's, and Max's—" Alec cut himself off, closing his eyes and taking a painful breath. Slowly he looked up at Jace, the unshed tears still threatening to fall. "Why don't we go inside and—"

"I cant," Jace shook his head. "I won't leave, but I can't go back in there. Not right now."

"Fair enough," Alec said, looking around curiously. "You know . . . all our stuff's back at the Penhallows still. We could go get it. It's something to do, anyway."

Jace met Alec's eyes, swallowing. Would that be a good idea? But then, one way or another, they would have to retrieve it all eventually. And Jace supposed that him and Alec doing it was better than Maryse or Robert having to do it. Together they headed down the street.

In the light of day, Jace could see the damage that had been done as they walked. Houses and buildings had crumbled, many more having burned to the ground completely. And some were still smoking. Turning onto Flintlock Street, he saw that many of the store front windows had been busted out. Ahead, Diana was using tape and plastic as a quick fix for her shop. Jace was simply relieved to see that she had made it through the night alive. Neither of them spoke as they passed, simply nodding at one another.

Rounding another corner, Jace skidded to a stop, barely keeping himself from running into someone. Someone with graying hair and a fair amount of stubble. "Luke," Jace breathed, biting down as his eyes glances around reflexively for Clary.

"Hello, Jace—Alec."

And they stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say. It was Alec who spoke first. "So, you're still here?"

And Luke let out a gruff laugh that didn't meet his eyes. "Yeah, they asked me to stay as an advisor."

"That's . . . good," Alec said, his voice strained.

And Luke's eyes met the Lightwood boy's. "I'm sorry about your brother, Alec. I may not have lost a sibling, but please believe me when I say that I know what it's like to lose a brother."

Clenching his jaw, Alec nodded, his eyes glancing toward his _parabatai._ "I suppose you do."

Jace on the other hand, said nothing. He wanted to ask about Clary. Was she okay? The last time he had seen her, she had been leaning against a pillar with a concussion. But that was before . . . Shaking his head, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't bring himself to ask. He didn't deserve to know.

"Clary is well," Luke said suddenly, as if he had heard Jace's thoughts. "She's been in bed most of the day, but she is well." Jace couldn't keep the gratitude he felt from showing. _Thank you._ Nodding, Luke continued. "Simon's doing okay, too. We're staying at my sister's house—Amatis. Are you guys . . ."

"Still at the Penhallows?" Jace finished for him. "No. Maryse got us a different place to stay."

"I understand," Luke said gravely, and Jace had the feeling that he really did.

"We're going there now, though," Alec said. "To the Penhallows, I mean. We have to get our stuff."

"I see." It was all Luke said. And then, "Well, I will let you go on your way then."

As they parted, Jace didn't get far before he spun on his foot. "Luke!" And he watched as the pack leader stopped, pushing his hair out of his face. "Let Clary know, will you? Where we're staying?"

"Of course, Jace."

Taking a breath, Jace turned back to Alec as the two of them set off to do something that neither of them were really looking forward to doing.

 _ **######**_

The next day was just as bad.

Jace was sitting on the bed he had shoved into the corner of Alec's room, rubbing at his temples. The house had had plenty of rooms for each of them to have their own, but it just hadn't felt right. After getting back from the Penhallows, Jace had stood in his own designated room for all of ten minutes before he had plucked up his mattress and pushed it unceremoniously into Alec's room. Alec had said nothing, simply getting up and shoving his own bed against the wall in order to make space.

The trip to the Penhallows had been both uneventful and incredibly painful. Aline had tried talking to them, but Jia and Patrick had whisked her away quickly in order to give them privacy. Jace wasn't mad at the Penhallows anymore—not really anyway. On some level he knew that it wasn't their fault, per say. Sebastian was their nephew—one they hadn't seen in years. How were they to know what kind of person he had become? All the same, he still wasn't exactly thrilled with them either.

"Why don't you go talk to her?"

Peeking an eye open, Jace looked over at his brother. _What are you on about?_ "Talk to who?," he asked. "Aline?"

"Oh, I thought you were thinking about . . ." Alec shook his head. "You were thinking about Aline?"

Pushing himself up, Jace winced at the pain in his head. His face was healing annoyingly slow, but at least he could see out of both of his eyes now. And his hand wasn't as bad anymore either. He had taken the bandage off, at least. Alec had tried getting him to use a healing rune, but Jace had declined. He was told to heal like a mundane and he would. He _deserved_ to heal like a mundane. Pushing his palms into his eyes, he rubbed them hard. "Well, not just Aline—all the Penhallow's, really." He had been so mad at them. He was ready to hate them— _did_ hate them. But that was before he had seen them.

But all Alec said was, "Oh."

Lowering his hands, Jace looked over at his brother. "Are you mad at them?"

At his question, Alec sighed. "I don't know. I mean . . . I want to be." Nodding, Jace laid back down just as his brother took a breath. "Have you talked to Clary?"

"No." It was the simplest answer.

"I'm sorry," Alec said then. "When I told you I needed you yesterday . . . it was selfish. I didn't mean that you had to . . ." He trailed off as Jace shot him a look.

"You're not being selfish, Alec. If anyone was being selfish yesterday, it was me. And I know you didn't mean that you wanted me to stay with you twenty-four seven." Jace let out a breath. His head really did hurt—but then that _was_ the potential side effect of having your face plowed into a stone wall. "But I promise—it's not because of you that I haven't talked to Clary. I haven't talked to her because—just because. I want to give her space."

 _You think other people can't see the way you look at each other?_

 _You think you're hiding the way you feel?_

Thankfully, Alec didn't push it. Lying there in silence, Jace had no choice but to think about Clary now. In fact, he would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about Clary many times over the last couple days. Back in the Accords hall, Jace had known on some level that she had been watching him—but she never came over. He was grateful for that. He hadn't known what to do or how to act or . . . it had been too much already. And then having run into Luke—she knew they weren't staying with the Penhallows, but she had not come to check on him here. Not that he had gone to check on her either. _She needs space from me,_ he told himself. After everything that had happened—at the manor with him, at the Gard with Sebastian . . .

 _You think other people can't see the way you look at each other?_

 _You think you're hiding the way you feel?_

Those words had played over and over in Jace's head since Sebastian had said them. Jace wasn't stupid. He knew that those closest to him could see how he felt about Clary. Right or wrong. And they—

A knock on the door tore him away from his thoughts. A second later, the door was being pushed open and Jace looked up to see Robert standing there, looking in at the boys awkwardly. Like he didn't know where he was or what he was doing there.

"Dad?" Alec said slowly, his brow furrowing.

"Max's funeral will be tomorrow," he said gruffly, sending Jace's stomach dropping into the lowest region of his abdomen. "And there's a warlock here, asking for you, Jace."

But it was Alec that jumped up, nearly tripping in his haste to get to the door. He said nothing as he pushed himself past his father and out of the room. Robert looked in at Jace curiously, but Jace only shrugged in return. "He's a friend—helped us the other night." Getting to his feet, he followed his brother downstairs and outside. He paused on the doorstep as Isabelle shoved past him. She looked angry, but she wouldn't meet his gaze as she flew up the stairs, her dark hair whipping dangerously behind her.

Turning back, he saw that Magnus and Alec were staring at him. He wondered if he should wave. The warlock was dressed surprisingly plain today—or as plain as the warlock would ever dress. His hair was still spiked in all directions, but the eyeliner was much more subtle than it usually was. And he only had two hoops through each ear this time. His long black leather coat was buttoned so that you couldn't see what he might be wearing under it.

"What was that about?" Jace asked, jerking his chin back toward the house. He had assumed that Isabelle had not been out of her room since coming here.

"She's upset," Magnus answered, as if this should have been obvious. And then he turned his attention back to Alec. "I am sorry, Alexander," he breathed softly, touching Alec's arm lightly. But Alec only nodded tensely, his arms crossed tightly, and the warlock's cat-like eyes flashed up to Jace—the disappointment and hurt at Alec's demeanor clear in them. Pushing himself off the porch, Jace joined them.

"So I hear you asked for me. What brings the High Warlock of Brooklyn calling?" asked Jace as he came to stop next to his _parabatai._ "Shouldn't you be somewhere else?" _Like with Clary's mom?_ "Researching something . . . or, you know, _something?"_

"I assure you, all my affairs are in place." Magnus said, his eyes flashing cautiously to Jace. "I actually came to let you know that I just came from the Penhallows—they had requested my presence."

Jace stood still, keeping himself from showing any emotion, but it was Alec who responded. "Why?"

"They were hoping I might track Sebastian," he said with a sigh.

At this, Jace raised a brow. "And could you?"

Magnus shook his head. "Sadly, no. Not that your sister didn't keep me from trying over and over again. She practically pulled his room apart hoping to find something I could use, but there was nothing. Everything was just . . . flat." And then he turned his yellow-green gaze to Alec. "I really am, truly—"

"Thank you, Magnus," Alec cut him off stiffly.

 _Well this is awkward,_ Jace thought as they stood there in silence. Apparently, Magnus seemed to think so too. "Yes, well . . . you're welcome. I will take my leave." He paused at the gate, turning around to look at the stoic dark haired boy. "You know how to find me if you need me, Alexander." And with that, he spun away.

Alec stood and watched him until the warlock turned a corner, blinking out of sight.

The rest of the day was spent in relative quiet. Isabelle still wouldn't come out of her room—Alec and Jace had both tried and failed to talk to her. Later they would hide in their own room and listen as she had a total melt down, screaming at her parents that she would not be going to Max's funeral.

"Well, there goes my option of bowing out," Jace said blandly, and Alec's stormy blue eyes flashed to him. "Sorry," Jace said quickly. "It's just, you know me . . . I'm not good with this kind of thing—I tend to say stupid shit when things get awkward or tense or—"

"Or just when you open your mouth in general?" Alec offered.

"Rude." Jace said, trying his best to look insulted, though he was anything but.

"Look, Jace," Alec sighed, "We all know how you are. And no one here wants you to be anything other than what you are—" _Not if you knew what I really was,_ Jace blanched but Alec didn't notice, "—But if you insist on saying stupid shit, just . . . keep it between us, okay? My parents—"

"I may be stupid, Alec, but I'm not _that_ stupid," Jace said pointedly, rubbing at his head again.

"Oh, for the love of the Angel," Alec cried out suddenly throwing a stele at Jace. "Use a healing rune!"

Jace smiled but didn't say anything. And he ignored the stele as he rolled over to face the wall.

But Jace couldn't sleep—when could he anymore? Granted, this was different. Worse almost. Every time he closed his eyes, his mind would assault him with images he wished he could somehow forget. He saw Ithuriel, dirty and broken . . . he saw Lilith giving her blood to his father . . . and his mother calling him a monster—wishing he were dead. But there was more. Always more. There was the manor exploding as he and Clary lie in the grass among the debris, their arms around one another—desperate and urgent. Jace had been selfish then. He was selfish now. He wanted her. She was his sister, and he wanted her. And there was the Gard, Hodge telling them about the Mirror, about Lake Lyn before he died. He hadn't wanted Jace to touch him. He saw Sebastian coming out of the shadows—attacking the people he loved. Jace would kill him. Of everything that had happened . . . that was the only thing he was certain of.

And then there was Max . . .

When he opened his eyes the next morning, Jace felt less than rested. Grabbing Alec's stele, he drew an energy rune on his arm and then sighed as he looked across the room at at his brother. He was still sleeping.

Today was going to be a hard day.

Getting to his feet, Jace crept quietly out of the room and down the hall toward the bathroom. As he passed Izzy's room, he could hear her quiet sobs coming from the other side of her door. Pausing, he knocked softly.

"Izzy?"

Silence. Jace tried the handle but found it locked. Seriously. Today was _really_ going to suck.

Raking his hands roughly through his hair, Jace left her alone.

In the bathroom, he flinched under the harsh light as he stared around the pink bathroom with disgust. He had been appalled by it from the moment he had seen it. Literally everything was pink. The toilet, the sink, the tub—it was like Pepto-Bismol had thrown up in there. At least the water was hot. Jace spent far too long under the waterfall cascading off him, but it would likely be the his only moment to relax, so he reveled in it.

Back in his room, Alec had woken up. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. He looked up when Jace walked in and gestured toward the bed across from him. "Mom just dropped these off." And Jace's heart dropped into the pit of his stomach as he took in the matching white jackets with scarlet runes that had been laid across the mattress. Taking a deep breath, he picked one of them up and stared at it. By all accounts, it was a nice jacket—good quality. It was the meaning behind it that made Jace hate it. _For death and mourning the color's white._ He dropped it back onto the bed as though it had burned him.

Getting to his feet, Alec stretched. "I'm gonna go take a shower."

Alone in his room, Jace sat on the bed and picked up the jacket again. The runes that circled the sleeves spoke of mourning and grief. Laying it across his lap, Jace dropped his head in his hands, pushing back his hair and sighing loudly. On the nightstand sat metal bands whose runes spoke of the same sense of loss. _I can't do this._ He couldn't go and sit at the necropolis and see Max laying there lifeless. He should be out there searching for Sebastian! Not sitting here doing nothing! But they didn't understand that. None of them did. And it wasn't that he blamed them for that . . . how could he? But the guilt he felt . . . the lies he was telling.

Suddenly, more than anything, he wished Clary was there. She would understand. She knew the truth.

Getting up, Jace began to get dressed.

Downstairs, Jace fidgeted with this arm bands, turning them in circles around his wrists as he waited for Alec to join them. Maryse and Robert were already there, Robert in the same mourning clothes as Jace. Maryse, however was in a white dress that reached down to her knees. Like Jace and Robert's clothes, hers were also covered in the scarlet runes of grieving. Jace was not looking forward to this—but then, who in their right mind _would_ look forward to something like this? _And where the hell was Alec?_ Sighing, he stole a glance at his adoptive parents. They were standing next to each other, but they might as well have been standing miles apart. They weren't looking at each other—they weren't even touching. While Jace wasn't the foremost authority on the subject, he was pretty sure than when you lost a child . . . you grieved together. But now that Jace thought about it, this was the first time he had seen them together since that night in the Accords Hall.

"I'm coming," Alec called out suddenly, flying down the stairs and coming to a halt in the living room. "Sorry," he said pushing his hair back, the hammered metal gleaming on his wrist.

But if Maryse was angry or annoyed, she didn't show it. Stepping forward, she gave a pained smile as she reached up and fixed the collar of Alec's jacket. And then reaching down, she took her son's hand. Turning, she reached for Jace. And Jace swallowed hard, looking up at Robert, who was staring out the window. Wouldn't she want her husband's hand? What was going on between them? Shaking his head, he bit down on his cheek before walking forward and slipping his hand into the hand of only woman he had ever thought of as a mother. Together they walked out of the house to go say goodbye.

As they left the city and followed the dirt path toward the necropolis, Jace could feel his heart begin to hammer. He didn't want to be here. He didn't deserve to be here. This was his fault—his fathers. And it was Sebastian's. But Alec needed him. And Maryse, she was holding to Jace like she thought he might run, her hand squeezing his tightly as she walked between him and Alec. Robert had caught up to them and was walking next his oldest son, but Maryse didn't seem to notice.

As they crested over the hill, the necropolis came into view. From where he stood, Jace could see the whole of the cemetery—the mausoleums of the old families, the burial plots, the tombstones. And he could see the center where a Silent Brother stood next to something draped in white. Jace's heart felt like an icy blade had pierced it. Next to him, Maryse stopped and they all stopped with her as she stared down the hill. He could hear her ragged breathing, but in the end, she only drew back her shoulders and squeezed Jace's and Alec's hands tighter. With her head held high, she continued her walk down to the cemetery.

As they got closer, the Silent Brother turned to face them and nodded. He, too, wore a white robe that was no doubt made from the same heavy material as their regular robes usually were.

 _Lightwoods_. And then he turned to Jace. _Morgenstern._

"He is a Lightwood," Maryse said stiffly.

The Silent Brother said nothing. Turning toward the alter that had been draped in white, he gestured at it. _Now is the time for the family to say their final goodbyes._ Moving slowly, the Silent Brother rounded the alter and slowly drew back the sheet that had been hiding Max from view.

At seeing his little brother, Jace went stone still. Max had been dressed in white and his usually dark and untidy hair had been combed neatly. Jace bit down, staring at the white silk had been wrapped around his eyes in lieu of his glasses. It was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. Jace wanted to scream—to tell them to fix it. And where were his books? He should have books!

Letting go of his hand, Maryse made her way slowly toward her youngest son. "My sweet baby boy," she whispered. With a trembling hand, she smoothed Max's hair back. And Jace looked away. He felt he was intruding on something private—something he had no right being apart of. But looking away didn't keep him from hearing—no matter how desperately he wished that it did. "I am so—" Maryse's voice cracked. "I am so sorry. This . . . this should not have happened to you." Taking a breath, Jace looked back in time to see Robert come up behind his wife, placing a hand around her. Reaching forward, he placed his hand over Max's.

"He took our baby, Robert." Maryse whispered. "He took Max from us."

"I know." It was all the Lightwood patriarch said, but the pain in his voice was enough to punch a hole in Jace. Taking his wife's by the shoulders, he lead her to where five chairs had been placed. She broke down as she sat, clutching to her husbands jacket.

From the corner of his eye, Jace caught movement and turned to see Alec approaching his little brother. Swallowing, Alec reached into his jacket. "Here Max," he breathed, laying a book next to his brother. Jace could see it was one of the Manga books that Max usually read—the same one he had been reading when Jace had woken him up the other day to go to the pond. Alec ran his fingers roughly through his hair, looking lost. "I—I hope it's the right one . . . it took me forever to find it." And then he reached forward, as though he had wanted to touch him, but couldn't bring himself to do it. Taking a step back, Alec turned and met Jace's eyes, tears streaming down his face.

And so it was Jace's turn. And yet his feet wouldn't move. He could only stand there. Taking a breath, he willed himself forward. Without knowing how, he found himself standing next to Max. He looked so . . . clean. Max wasn't necessarily a dirty kid, but he was never this clean. It was wrong. Reaching up, Jace ruffled his hair. It was an improvement at least. It was more . . . Max. The boy had idolized him—something Jace always knew. _Some idol I became._ All the boy had ever wanted to be was a Shadowhunter someday. Reaching down to his belt, Jace removed one of his seraph blades and placed it into Max's hands—an honor usually reserved for Shadowhunters that were killed in action. From the corner of his eyes, Jace could see the Silent Brother turn his head to look at him. _Don't even think about moving it,_ Jace thought viciously. Dropping his hands to his sides, he clenched his fist.

"I'll find him, Max. I will not let your death be in vain." Taking a step back, Jace placed his fist over his heart. _"Ave atque vale, Maxwell Lightwood."_

Turning, he sat next to Alec and he listened as the Silent Brother talked. He listened as Maryse cried. Watched as Alec pushed back silent tears. And he stared at the fifth chair that would remain empty. His heart hurt for Isabelle. He hurt for his whole family. He wanted to do something to help them . . . to fix them. But there was nothing he _could_ do.

So he sat there and did nothing.

* * *

 ** _AN:_** _That . . . sucked. A lot. I did not like writing that at all. But alas, it had to be written, didn't it? If you want an extra jab to the heart, listen to Immortal and Hello by Evanescence while reading it. It's what I did while writing it anyway. That said, as always, **Please Review!**_


	14. One Last Night

**~ Chapter Thirteen ~**  
 **One Last Night**

Jace was exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to go home, crawl into bed, and forget this day had ever happened. And Alec seemed to be along the same mindset. They didn't talk as they made their way back into the city. The sun would be setting soon, the funeral going on longer than planned, and Maryse and Robert had sent Jace and Alec on ahead. They hadn't been ready to leave just yet. Jace, on the other hand, had been more than ready—the flames of the pyre still burned behind his eyes.

The house was dark when they got home. Flipping on one of the small lamps, Jace closed the door softly behind him as Alec flopped heavily into a chair. Sighing, Jace went to join him but had not made it very far when a soft rapping came from the door.

"Who the shit could that be?" Jace asked slightly annoyed as he cast a bewildered glance at his brother. But Alec only shrugged his shoulders, too exhausted to speculate. Frowning, Jace crossed the room. "Seriously, who shows up at this time of night? Don't people have any respect—" His words died in his throat the moment he yanked the door open.

"Jace."

Jace bit his cheek hard as looked down at Clary. Her wild ruby curls looked windblown—as if she had run here, and her Idris eyes sparkled in the witchlight behind him. Upon seeing him, she looked just as taken back as he had—staring with shock and sadness at his mourning clothes. But she recovered herself quickly.

"I need to talk to you." And then she frowned. "If—if that's okay."

 _Why wouldn't it be okay?_ Jace wondered. Saying nothing, he opened the door wider. That's when he saw Simon standing there. He had been hanging back in the shadows. _Fucking vampires._ He would point out that given the leech wasn't your normal everyday vampire, he hardly had to hide in the dark. But if Simon hadn't figured that out by now . . . well, that was his problem. Plus, Jace just didn't have the energy to get into it. The funeral had taken a lot out of him.

Back inside, Jace stalled as Simon took the chair opposite Alec, and Clary the couch. He could have sat on the couch next to her, but . . . shaking his head, he went to stand by the window. He could feel Clary's eyes on him as he moved, and it sent his heart racing. But he couldn't bring himself to return her gaze. He was already hurting . . . to look at her would surely kill him.

"So what's up?" Jace asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the window pane as he stared out of the stained glass.

Clary took a breath. "Well . . ." And then she began. She told them about the Council Meeting, how everything had been a mess. How Shadowhunters were fighting with Shadowhunters and how everyone seemed to listen to Luke, even though he was a Downworlder. And then she told them about Valentine—how he had shown up as a Projection and given them all an ultimatum. Fight him and die or join him and live. From there she moved on to the death of the Inquisitor—shocked and confused as to how Valentine had been able to kill him. "Which that brings me to the last part," she said nervously. "It's about Sebastian." From the window, Jace saw Clary stand up and hand something to Alec. "That's the _real_ Sebastian Verlac."

 _The real Sebastian—what are you talking about?_ Turning, Jace saw that Alec was holding pictures in his hands, his face as white as a ghost. Jace was at his side within seconds and Alec handed the photographs up to him. The smiling boy in the photograph indeed had dark hair, but that was where the similarities died. This was not the boy that had spent the last few days with them. But how was that possible? "Where did you get these?" Jace asked, not looking up as he thumbed through the photos once more. "And how do you know that this is Sebastian and the other Sebastian is not, well, Sebastian?"

"Aline," Clary answered, and Jace felt his stomach twist. "She came to Amatis' house. She—she was looking for you guys actually, but . . . she didn't think you would have spoken to her. I guess Jia contacted Sebastian's mom and blew up at her." Jace felt a knot of guilt at hearing that, and it was clear from the look on Alec's face that his _parabatai_ was feeling it too. But if Clary noticed, she didn't say anything as she continued. "Aline's aunt insisted that the boy Jia described did not sound like her son . . . so she sent Aline pictures of Sebastian. Obviously you can see that she was correct. Whoever that guy was . . . he was not Aline's cousin."

And then she went silent. You could have heard a pin drop as Alec and Jace tried to process what she had just told them. Valentine walking boldly into the Accords Hall that had been swarming with Shadowhunters in order to deliver a threat, insult Downworlders, and kill the Inquisitor. And Sebastian not being Sebastian, but an imposter. That one hurt the most, especially given how they had treated the Penhallows these last couple days. Sighing, Jace dropped the pictures on the coffee table and crossed back over to the window.

"Well, how about that," he said flatly. "A guy attends the funeral of his nine-year-old brother and misses all the fun."

"Jace," Alec breathed. "Don't."

"Don't what?" Jace asked more aggressively than he had any right to be. But he could feel the anger building. They had just found out that Sebastian was an imposter—making it that much harder to find the bastard. They've been treating the Penhallows like shit for nothing, and to top it all off—there might have been an actual chance of going after Valentine and he had missed it. Wasn't he allowed to be upset?

But Alec only sighed. "You're not mad at Clary," he said, his voice tired. And Jace's eyes snapped to her through the reflection of the glass. _Of course I'm not mad at her._ "Or Simon," his brother continued, less sure than before. "At least . . . I don't think you're mad at Simon."

Jace chewed thoughtfully on his cheek. Was that how he was coming across? It was not his intention. He just . . . it was so _hard_ to be around her. He was so completely hers and she said that she had wanted him too, but . . . he was a demon. Or at least half of one. And many demons were known to be cunning, and charming, and liars. What made him any different? _H_ _ow could I possibly explain any of that? I can't!_ In the end, he kept his voice emotionless as he said, "Clary knows I'm not angry at her."

He didn't bother commenting on the vampire—something Simon picked up on right away as Jace saw him roll his eyes before saying, "What I don't get is how he killed the Inquisitor. I thought Projections couldn't actually affect anything."

"They shouldn't be able to," Alec conceded. "They're just illusions. So much colored air, so to speak."

"Well, not in this case," Clary said, and Jace could hear the unease in her voice. "He reached into the Inquisitor and he twisted . . ." she took a shuddering breath and Jace closed his eyes— _don't run to her_ —keeping his feet planted. "There was a lot of blood."

At that, Jace turned his head to look at the vampire, giving him the ghost of a smile. "Like a special bonus for you."

"Has there ever been an Inquisitor who didn't die a horrible death?" Simon asked, once again ignoring Jace's jab. "Its like being the drummer in Spinal Tap."

Leaning forward, Alec rubbed hard at his temples. "I can't believe my parents don't know about this yet," he said, scowling at the photos on the table. "I can't say I'm looking forward to telling them."

"Where are your parents?" Clary asked surprised, and Jace grimaced. "I thought they were upstairs."

Meeting his brother's eyes, Alec shook his head slowly. "They're still at the necropolis. At Max's grave. They sent us home." Taking a breath, Jace looked out the window again as Alec continued. "They wanted to be there alone for a while."

"What about Isabelle?" Simon asked with concern. "Where is she?"

 _What's it matter to you?_ Jace turned to look at Simon, his gaze flat and unreadable. He wasn't sure why he was giving the vampire so much shit. Therapeutic reasons perhaps? Alec was right—he wasn't mad at him. And Simon had always been good to Isabelle—the boy was probably just truly concerned. "She wont come out of her room," he decided to answer truthfully. "She thinks what happened to Max was her fault. She wouldn't even come to the funeral."

Simon frowned. "Have you tried talking to her?"

 _Really?_ Jace raised a brow. "No. We've been punching her repeatedly in the face instead. Why? Do you think that won't work?"

But Simon only shrugged. "Just thought I'd ask."

 _Yeah, well_ —catching the glare his brother was giving him, the thought died away as did any retort Jace might have been planning. And then Alec was looking at the vampire. "We'll tell her this stuff about Sebastian not actually being Sebastian," he said. "It might make her feel better. She thinks she ought to have been able to tell that there was something off about Sebastian, but if he was some kind of spy . . ." Picking up the pictures, Alec looked down at them, shrugging. _"Nobody_ noticed anything off about him. Not even the Penhallows."

 _Um. Excuse you._ _"I_ thought he was a knob," Jace said pointedly.

"Yes, but that's just because—" Alec cut himself off as he cast a glance at Clary. And Jace nearly rolled his eyes. _Way to be conspicuous there._ Slumping deeper into his chair, Alec tossed the pictures back on the table a bit forcefully, watching as they slid across it and fell over the side. "It hardly matters," he sighed. "Once she finds out what Valentine's threatening, nothing's going to cheer her up."

"But would he really do it?" Clary asked suddenly. "Send a demon army against Nephilim—I mean, he's still a _Shadowhunter,_ isn't he? He couldn't destroy all his own people."

At her words, Jace's eyes flashed to her, his golden gaze capturing her emerald orbs. And when he spoke, it was with barely contained anger. "He didn't care enough about his children not to destroy them," he said coldly. _So tell me . . ._ "What makes you think he'd care about his people?"

Alec sighed. "Jace . . ."

"It does explain one thing," Jace switched track, cutting Alec off. He was still unable to look away from Clary, however, now that he had made the mistake of doing so. "Magnus was trying to see if he could use a tracking rune on any of the things Sebastian had left in the room, to see if we could locate him that way. He said he wasn't getting much if a reading on anything we gave him. Just . . . flat."

"What does that mean?" Clary asked, and Jace noticed that she wasn't looking away anymore than he was.

"They were Sebastian Verlac's things. The fake Sebastian probably took them when he intercepted him. And Magnus isn't getting anything from them because the real Sebastian—

"Is probably dead" Alec finished for him. "And the Sebastian we know is too smart to leave anything behind that could be used to track him. I mean, you can't track somebody from just anything. It has to be an object that's in some way connected to that person. A family heirloom, or a stele, or a brush with some hair in it, something like that."

"Which is too bad," Jace said irritably, finally tearing his eyes away to look out the window again. "Because if we could follow him, he'd probably lead us straight to Valentine. I'm sure he scuttled right back to his master with a full report. Probably told him all about Hodge's crackpot mirror-lake theory."

"It might not have been crackpot," Alec said, rubbing at his head again. Jace suddenly itched for a stele to throw at him. "They've stationed guards at the paths that go to the lake, and set up wards that will warn them if anyone Portals there."

Turning, Jace leaned back against the wall. "Fantastic," he said dryly. "I'm sure we all feel very safe now."

"What I don't get" Simon cut in. "Is why Sebastian stayed around. After what he did to Izzy and Max, he was going to get caught, there was no pretending. I mean, even if he thought he'd killed Izzy—" Jace blanched, "—instead of knocking her out, how was he going to explain that they were both dead and he was still fine? No, he was busted. So why hang around through the fighting? Why come up to the Gard to get _me?_ I'm pretty sure he didn't actually care one way or another whether I lived or died."

"Now you're just being too hard on him," Jace said with a hint of amusement. "I'm sure he'd rather you died."

"Actually," Clary said softly, almost hesitantly. "I think he stayed because of me."

Jace bit down as he looked up at her. _Or maybe you're really just angry because I kissed your sister. Because she wanted me._ "Because of you?" _She has this little habit, you know—the way she gasps when you kiss her, like she's surprised._ "Hoping for another hot date, was he?" He regretted it the moment the words left his mouth. Clary's eyes widened and her face flushed as she looked up at him with both hurt and anger. She looked as though he had slapped her.

"No," she said, composing herself. "And our date wasn't hot." Something must have shown on his face then because she quickly said, "In fact, it wasn't even a date." She wouldn't look at him now as she jerked her head irritably. "Anyway, that's not the point. When he came into the Hall, he kept trying to get me to go outside with him so we could talk. He wanted something from me. I just don't know what."

"Or maybe he just wanted you," Jace said. If Sebastian really was the puppet of Valentine, then she was probably right. He wanted Valentine's daughter. _He'll die before I let that happen._ At his words however, Clary's eyes snapped up to his like she couldn't believe what he had just said. _Oh, shit . . ._ "Not that way," he amended quickly. _Well, not completely._ But after the glare she had given him—was _still_ giving him—he was not about to bring that up again. "I mean maybe he wanted to bring you to Valentine."

"Valentine doesn't care about me," she said flatly, as if this were an absolute truth. But Jace knew it wasn't. Not after the East River. All the same, Clary shook her head. "He's only ever cared about you."

 _You're kidding right?_ Jace felt a flash of annoyance pass through him like an electric currant. "Is that what you call it?" He had seen the way a father should care for his child in watching Luke and Clary. No, his father didn't care about him. Jerking his head slightly to clear the thought, he continued. "After what happened to you on the boat, he's interested in you. Which means you need to be careful. Very careful. In fact, it wouldn't hurt if you just spent the next few days inside. You can lock yourself in your room like Isabelle." _Not that you're going to do that._

"I'm not going to do that."

"Of course you're not." He wished he could be even a little surprised by this. "Because you live to torture me, don't you?"

At that, Clary's Idris meadows flashed with an oncoming storm. "Not everything, Jace, is _about you."_

"Possibly." Jace almost smiled. _Almost._ He had to admit that he loved hearing her say his name—even if it was angry like that. And really, it wasn't even angry, but annoyed. "But you have to admit that the majority of things are."

Clary's eyes narrowed, her jaw locking as she glared at him. Jace wondered if she might scream. But before he could wonder for long, Simon cleared his throat loudly as if hoping to remind them that he and Alec were still there. "Speaking of Isabelle—" he began as all eyes turned to him, "—which we only sort of were, but I thought I ought to mention this before the arguing really got underway—I think maybe I should go talk to her."

"You?" Alec blurted disbelievingly. _Smooth._ Jace raised a brow, the corner of his mouth ticking upward slightly. "It's just—" Alec continued quickly as if realizing his tone could have been construed as insulting. "—she won't even come out of her room for her own family. Why would she come out for you?"

 _Because he's not family._

Before answering, however, Simon got to his feet and shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked at Alec. "Maybe because I'm not family." And Jace looked at the vampire. Really looked at him. From the thin white scars that circled his throat and wrists, to the way he held himself now. The boy had changed a lot since Jace had first met him—and not just from being a mundane to becoming vampire. It was more than that. _Watch it, rat boy . . . I might actually be growing to like you._ Shrugging, Simon continued. "I think I'll have a try at getting Isabelle to talk to me," he said. "It can't hurt." _If you believe that, then you don't know Isabelle._

"But it's almost dark," Clary said, frowning. "We told Luke and Amatis that we'd be back before the sun went down."

"I'll walk you back," Jace offered without looking at her. For once, he really wanted the vampire to stay. He was willing to try anything to get Izzy to talk to someone. Even if it _was_ a vampire. "As for Simon, he can manage his own way back in the dark." And then he smiled coyly. "Can't you?"

But it was Alec who answered. "Of _course_ he can," he said defensively, as if his brother had just greatly insulted the boy. "He's a _vampire—"_ Jace raised a brow; _wait for it . . ._ "—and I just now realized that you were probably joking." _There it is._ "Never mind me."

Meeting Simon's eyes, Jace nodded slightly in approval. He really hoped the vampire could do it. His sister needed someone and right now, it wasn't himself or Alec. _I wish you luck._ Jace sighed silently to himself then. _And screw you for making me think you might actually be deserving of respect._

He would also be lying if he said that he had not wanted to be alone with Clary.

It was with few goodbyes and Clary watching Simon disappear upstairs, that they left. The night air was cool and there was still the light scent of fire clinging to the air, though Jace wasn't sure if it was from the buildings that had been destroyed or the pyres of the other funerals that had taken place. There had been a lot of funerals, and Jace knew that there would be a lot more before they saw the end of this. Which was also why he had wanted to walk Clary back to Amatis' house. It wasn't that he thought she would get lost or abducted (though both were not necessarily far fetched either), but because he wasn't sure how much time they had left together. He had been hoping that he would find out where Sebastian was—where his father was—so that he could go after them. But now . . . well, Jace would have to settle with spending as much time as he could with those he loved before they were all killed. Because there was no way he was going to agree to Valentine's ultimatum. And there was no way his father was going to let him live if he didn't.

As always, he was hyper aware of Clary walking next to him. She was like a magnet to him, pulling him in. She always would be. He loved her though he had no right to . . . not that he had told her that. He was sure she knew it, though. How could she not? It wasn't like he had been all that subtle about his feelings about her. _We see your pain, Jace. We feel it._ He had nearly told Clary that night lying in the debris of the manor but . . . _but then you ruined it like you always do._ Now he didn't think he would ever tell her the truth. It wouldn't be fair to her. From the corner of his eye, he saw Clary shiver and wrap her arms lightly around herself.

"Are you cold?" he asked casting a quick glance down at her.

"I was just thinking," she replied softly, tugging gently at one of her curls in that way she did when she was deep in thought. Jace had realized long ago that she didn't know she did it. It was one of the many things he loved about her. "I'm surprised that Valentine went after the Inquisitor instead of Luke. The Inquisitor's a Shadowhunter, and Luke—Luke's a Downworlder. Plus, Valentine hates him."

"But in a way, he respects him," Jace shrugged, watching as a bird flew by overhead. "Even if he is a Downworlder." It was the whole, _is the enemy of my enemy my friend? Or is he my enemy._ Not that Valentine didn't know exactly how Luke felt about him. Peeking down at Clary again, he saw that she was looking up at him—watching him curiously—and Jace sighed. "Luke is trying to get the Clave to change, to think in a new way. That's exactly what Valentine did, even if his goals were—" _Fucked up,_ "—well, not the same. Luke's an iconoclast. He want's to change. To Valentine, the Inquisitor represents the old, hidebound Clave he hates so much."

"And they were friend's once," Clary pointed out. "Luke and Valentine."

 _Friends,_ Jace thought absently touching his chest where his _parabatai_ rune sat. That wasn't exactly the right word. What Valentine and Luke had been was more than that. It _should_ have been absolute. _Alas they had been friends in youth; but whispering tongues can poison truths . . ._ Jace shook his head. "The Marks of that which once hath been," he said, quoting the old poem that Hodge used to read. He had tried to say it mockingly, but he just didn't have the energy. Besides, looking back on it now, he was sure that Hodge read it purposely for this very reason. "Unfortunately," Jace continued flatly, "you never really hate anyone as much as someone you cared about once. I imagine Valentine has something special planned for Luke, down the road, after he takes over."

At his words, he could see Clary turn toward him—feel as she all but gaped at him. He didn't return her gaze. "But he wont take over," she said definitively. Jace said nothing. She couldn't really be all that surprised with their inevitable outcome, could she? "He _won't_ win—he can't." _I guess she can be._ "He doesn't want war, not against Shadowhunters _and_ Downworlders—"

"What makes you think Shadowhunters will fight with Downworlders?" Jace asked, cutting her off as he stared out over the water of canal street. "Because Luke says so?" He knew that what Luke was trying to do was for the best . . . he would be happy to fight with Downworlders if it meant standing a chance against his father, but he knew better than to expect other Shadowhunters to see it the same way. "Luke's an idealist."

"And why is that a bad thing to be?"

"It's not," Jace sighed. "I'm just not one." He knew that it might have hurt her to hear that. But he also knew his father. He was created by his father. Hell, he might as well have _been_ his father. Because just like his father . . . he knew the hopelessness of the situation. Looking up, he saw that they had reached Amatis' house.

"Maybe," Clary said, after a while, turning to stare at him in the darkness of the front porch. "But you're not like _him_ either."

A shock went through Jace at hearing that, his eyes snapping to her. How could she possibly know what he had just been thinking? How could she . . . Jace shook his head. She knew him. She knew him better than just about everyone. Possibly anyone. Could he really say he was surprised? Taking a breath he looked at Clary. She looked the same as she always did—perfect. "Clary—" he dropped his head. What could he possibly say to make her understand? She knew what he was. Knew what he had been created to be. And that's when he saw it, the blood on her sleeve. Had she been hurt? It looked fresh. What had she been doing? Taking a step toward her, he took her wrist tenderly in his hand. "There's blood on your sleeve," he said, meeting her Idris emeralds once more. "Are you hurt?"

Surprised Clary looked down to where her wrist rested in his hand. She didn't pull away from him as her brows furrowed. "That's not my blood."

 _Oh, thank the Angel._ Jace loosened his grip, though he didn't let go. "Is it the Inquisitor's?"

Clary shook her head. "I actually think it's Sebastian's."

Jace bit down on his cheek. Had she said . . . _"Sebastian's_ blood?"

At that, Clary nodded. "Yes—when he came into the Hall the other night, remember his face was bleeding?" Jace did remember that. He remembered Clary reaching up to touch the asshole's face, and later hoping that the claw marks he had seen there hurt. "I think Isabelle must have clawed him—" She would think right. Izzy had told them about what happened that night, not that he was going to repeat it. "—but anyway—I touched his face and got his blood on me." Clary bent down over her hand still resting in his. "I thought Amatis washed the coat, but I guess she didn't."

This was too easy. This couldn't possibly be so easy, could it? Sebastian had fucked up. It was like Christmas had come early. Reaching up with his free hand, he touched a finger along the green fabric. And then with a quickness he knew she couldn't have possibly seen, Jace pulled a thread from the jacket before letting go of her wrist. Looking up, he met her bewildered gaze. But all he said was, "Thanks."

And she stared at him, as if she knew exactly what he had done. Jace's heart picked up, pounding against his chest. But then she shook her head. "You're not going to tell me what that was about are you?"

Jace's heart slowed a fraction. She had noticed something . . . just not what that something was. Well, he sure wasn't going to tell her. Not if he wanted to keep her safe. "Not a chance," he forced himself to give her a sincere smile.

Letting out an annoyed sigh, Clary threw her hands up with frustration—her eyes glaring at him. "I'm going inside," she snapped. "I'll see you later."

Turning she stormed inside, the warm glow from the living room cutting through the waning light. And then the door was slammed shut, leaving Jace alone on the porch looking after her. _I'm sorry Clary,_ he thought wretchedly, the fake smile slipping instantly from his face. He wished he could tell her the truth—he really did. But he also knew that if he did, she would either insist on talking him out of it . . . or insist on coming. He couldn't have her trying either, cause he knew he would cave. He would always cave to her. "I love you Clary," he breathed the words he would never tell her into the darkness. He clenched his fists, staring at the door. _I will keep you safe. If it's the very last thing I do._

Jace didn't know how long he stood on her front porch, or up at her window when he saw the light come on. She had stood there staring at something for a long time before turning out of sight. But it was well after dark when he finally got back to their temporary house. He had only just barely made it thorough the door when there was a knock. Sighing, he turned and opened it.

"Hey Jace." It was Luke. Immediately Jace's heart jumped in throat. Was Clary okay? Was something wrong? But Luke was smiling. Surely Luke wouldn't be smiling if something was wrong. "Is Simon still here?"

 _Ah._ The pack leader was wearing his usual plaid flannel and jeans—which was just as bad as Alec, with his dark sweater and jeans combo. But before Jace could answer, Alec came out of the kitchen. "Yeah, he's upstairs with Isabelle," he said, looking suddenly uncomfortable as both Jace and Luke turned to look at him. "Izzy's been having a hard time since Max's death. Simon's the first one she's let in her room since it happened."

"Well would you mind if I went up to check on him?" Luke asked, not unkindly. Though Jace had the feeling that Luke was going to do it regardless. In the end, both he and Alec merely shrugged nonchalant and watched silently as the pack leader hurried up the steps. He came back down only seconds later, looking slightly as though he were second guessing his life choices. Pulling open the front door, he said, "I'll, uh, let Clary know that he's okay."

There wasn't much to do after Luke left. Alec tried to talk him into eating something but Jace just wasn't hungry. What he really wanted to do was to try a tracking rune on that thread.

"Are you okay?" Alec asked after awhile.

"I'm just tired," Jace answered, rubbing at his eyes. "And I think I want to sleep in my own room tonight. I just . . . need to be alone."

"Okay," Alec said, nodding. And Jace knew he was trying to be understanding—trying to be there for everyone. In fact, with the exception of when he had seen his brother break down and grieve with his mother, he had only ever seen Alec trying to be there for everyone else.

"You're going to run yourself ragged," Jace said halfway to the stairs.

Alec, who had just been about to take a seat, looked up surprised. 'What?"

"I love you Alec, but if you don't take time for yourself, you're going to run yourself ragged."

"I'll be fine."

Jace stared. "Alec—"

"Go lay down."

 _Nope._ Jace made his way back into the living room. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," his brother said quickly, his brow furrowing. And Jace's eyes narrowed. Alec had always been a terribly liar.

"You know, you haven't really talked about Max," Jace hedged softly. "Everyone here—"

"There's no need to," Alec said stiffly.

"Alec, if you're mad at me—if you blame me . . . I wish you would just say so." _The Angel knows_ _I blame myself enough._

But Alec only sputtered, truly bewildered now. "Jace, why would I blame you? You didn't cause Max's death anymore than Isabelle did."

"Because Valentine's my father," said Jace. "Because Sebastian was there at my father's command."

"That doesn't mean you killed Max," Alec said. "And Izzy—" he looked at the ceiling, "—up there blaming herself? That's just as ridiculous. I could blame myself too, you know."

At this, Jace bit down, staring at his brother. "How so?"

"Because _I_ left Sebastian with Max and Izzy. _I_ told him to stay and watch them." Alec shrugged as though he were exhausted. "You even told me that you didn't like him—that you thought there was something off about him—a tool, I believe you called him."

Jace gave a half smile. That had seemed so long ago now. And then he was frowning, shaking his head. "But you didn't know," he said, pushing his hair back. "You couldn't have known."

"Exactly." Alec took a breath. "I _didn't_ know. And neither did Izzy and neither did _you._ We can blame ourselves all we want. Personally, I think that's what Valentine wants. But me? I'm going to put blame where blame is due. Sebastian killed Max— _Valentine_ killed Max. And I will spend my last dying breath making sure I do everything I can to fight them both at every turn—even if that's not that far off. One way or another, I'm going to make that son of a bitch pay."

Chewing on his cheek, Jace nodded. "We both will." Looking back up at the ceiling, Jace smiled then. "Did Iz really let the vampire into her room?"

"Yeah," Alec laughed. "She screamed for us at one point to come remove him but . . . well . . ." he shrugged ruefully. "I didn't respond."

Jace laughed. "Good. Strange as it is to admit, I think he's good for her right now." And then he stretched. "I'm gonna grab my bed out of your room and toss it back in mine."

Alec only waved in return. And Jace watched as he picked up an old book off one of the shelves and sat down. Swallowing, he took a few more minutes to really watch Alec unseen. To memorize his features. If all went as planned, it might be the last time he did. Upstairs, Jace shoved his mattress down the hall and back into the room that had been untouched. He also had swiped Alec's stele up off the nightstand when he was in there. Hopefully Alec wouldn't notice it was missing right away. As he had passed Isabelle's room, he heard her soft laughter from inside. Knowing her as well as he did, Jace knew it wasn't real—no one around here had real laughter anymore—but it was definitely a start.

Alone in his room, Jace sat on his bed and pulled the blood soaked thread out along with Alec's stele. With his heart hammering, it was time to see if it would work. Opening his palm, Jace held the thread, drew a tracking rune, and—

It was like a veil had been pulled over his eyes. He knew that he was still in his room, and yet . . . he was running a path that he knew well. Gasping Jace's eyes flew opened. It had worked. The tracking rune . . . it worked. Sebastian was on foot, and if he kept to the path he was currently taking, he would reach the destroyed manor by morning. Jace was nearly to the window when he stopped. He didn't want to leave it like this. Alec would be so upset and hurt in the morning if he woke to find Jace gone. But he couldn't exactly not go, could he? Crossing to the desk, he pulled out a pen and some paper. Sitting down, he began to write.

.

.

The moon was glowing bright as Jace made his third trip through Alicante—past Amatis' house. He had made it out to the stables at one point, noting that Wayfarer was still there, sleeping in his stall, but Jace had not taken the horse. Instead he had walked back toward the city—unsure why he couldn't bring himself to leave.

That was a lie.

He knew why he couldn't bring himself to leave. _Clary._ From the moment he had met her, there lives had gotten so brilliantly and so disastrously entwined. Jace had been so incredibly intrigued by the sharp eyed mundie girl that had tried to stop him from killing a demon back in Pandemonium. The intrigue only got worse the more he got to know her. He could still feel her dying in his arms as he raced back to the institute. He had been so terrified of losing her. But he didn't. Instead, he had kissed her awake. He had never told her about that—not that that was something he could actually tell her now. He loved her. That would never change—no matter how wrong it was. He knew that now. He had known it before. At Hotel Dumort and again at Renwicks—especially at Renwicks. When she had shown up . . . when she had come for him and threw herself into his arms as if it were the one place she truly belonged.

 _But she's your sister,_ he told himself. _You shouldn't love her the way you do._ Not that he could stop it either. Learning that she was his sister was . . . it was a death sentence—a punishment for something he didn't even know he had done wrong. Every day that he watched her and couldn't have her left him dying a little more on the inside. He had never wanted a girl the way he had wanted Clary and it terrified him. But it was more than just _want._ Sighing, Jace stopped and rubbed hard at his eyes before pushing his hands roughly through his hair. He was back in front of Amatis' house. Why did he keep coming here? Why could he not just leave and go after Sebastian as planned? He would die happy knowing the girl he loved more than his own life was safe. _Not that she knows you love her._

At the thought, Jace looked back up at the house. He had never said the words that there were no going back from, but he was sure she knew. She _had_ to know. When it came to Clary, he was not exactly the master of keeping his heart off his sleeve. He was more like a bull in some china shop filled with emotional turmoil and loathing. Shaking his head, he took a step back. _Why are you here? You shouldn't be here!_ He had to go. Now.

And go he did.

In the wrong direction . . .

Climbing up the lattice, he pulled himself easily onto the porch roof. He was level with her window now, and he hesitated at seeing it open. She would probably be sleeping. Should he knock? Should he call out her name? But then . . . did any of these questions matter? Throwing a leg silently over the windowsill, he pushed the curtains out of the way as his boot came down on soft carpeting that muffled his footsteps. Due to his Nyx Rune, his eyes adjusted quickly in the dark. Clary was in bed, scrambling at her nightstand for her seraph blade. Jace almost smiled at seeing the warrior she had become.

Moving quickly across the room, Jace laid his hand gently over hers. "It's all right," he said softly. "It's me."

Clary took a sharp breath at the sound of his voice—or maybe it was that he was touching her. Flinching inwardly, Jace quickly removed his hand and Clary turned to look up at him, holding the blankets around her as she did. Her hair was messy from sleep, splayed around her head on the pillow like a fiery halo. He should look away—it would be the polite thing to do—but he couldn't. She was so beautiful.

"Jace," Clary whispered, the shock of him standing in her room wearing off. "What are you doing here? What's wrong?" _What's wrong? Nothing—everything. Me—you._ How could he possibly explain any of that? When he continued to say nothing, Clary met his eyes with those calming Idris meadows as she pulled the blankets up around her. Was she cold? "Jace," she said again with more concern. "Are you all right?"

Jace blinked. He had meant to leave. He had not meant to come up here. What was he even doing here when he should be going after Sebastian?! Biting down hard on his cheek, Jace swallowed. "I don't know." His mind was screaming at him and yet, all he could do was stare at her as if she were an angel that had suddenly appeared. "I wasn't going to come here. I've been wandering around all night—I couldn't sleep," he added, knowing he couldn't tell her the complete truth, "—and I kept finding myself walking here. To you."

Clary frowned, sitting up. In doing so, the blanket that had been covering her fell down around her waist. And Jace saw that she was wearing a sheer tank top. Too sheer. And the moonlight from the window was making her skin glow. He really _should_ look away, but he still couldn't. His heart raced as it always would, but he also felt something else. Sadness. He shouldn't have come here. He had told himself he wouldn't.

"Why can't you sleep?" she asked, looking up at him. "Did something happen?"

 _Why did you come here?_ he practically shouted at himself. "I had to see you." He was only vaguely aware of the answer leaving his lips. But he was completely aware of the fact that Clary had heard him. He watched as her eyes widened a fraction—the movement of her throat as swallowed. "I know I shouldn't," he said. "But I _had_ to."

Taking a deep breath, Clary pulled her legs back on the bed. "Well, sit down, then," she said. "Because you're freaking me out." And then she frowned. "Are you sure nothing's happened?"

"I didn't say nothing happened," he said, turning to sit on the bed. _I just can't tell you what. Not really._ He stared out the window. So many people were out there, hugging the one's they loved—telling them how they feel—knowing this might be one of the last times they get to. But for Jace, it was more than that. Turning to look at Clary, he realized just how close they were. It would be so easy to lean forward and kiss her. To caress her cheek. To—

"Is there bad news?" Clary asked anxiously. "Is everything—is everyone—"

"It's not bad," Jace said, shaking his head lightly—the words coming out of his mouth of their own volition. "And it's not news. It's the opposite of news." Was he really doing this? But he couldn't stop himself either. Not now. "It's something I've always known, and you—you probably know it too. God knows I haven't hid it all that well." She was watching him with bated breath—her eyes unable to look away. But he had to tell her, he realized. He may not be able to ever take it back, but he didn't want to. It was selfish and wrong and he didn't care. He could not go to face Sebastian and his father without her knowing at least how he felt. "What happened," he stopped, taking a breath. _She's your sister—_ "Is that I realized something."

"Jace," she breathed unsteadily, her eyes never leaving his. "Jace, you don't have to—"

"I was trying to go . . . somewhere," he began. "But I kept getting pulled back here. I couldn't stop walking, couldn't stop thinking. About the first time I ever saw you, and how after that I couldn't forget you. I wanted to, but I couldn't stop myself. I forced Hodge to let me be the one who came to find you and bring you back to the Institute." Had he told her that before? He didn't think he had. "And even back then," he continued breathily, "in that stupid coffee shop, when I saw you sitting with Simon, even then it felt wrong to me— _I_ should have been the one sitting with you. The one who made you laugh like that. I couldn't get rid of that feeling. That it should have been me." Taking a breath, he met her eyes once more. "And the more I knew you, the more I felt it—it had never been like that for me before. I'd always wanted a girl and then gotten to know her and not wanted her anymore, but with you the feeling just got stronger and stronger until that night you showed up at Renwicks and I _knew."_ Biting down, Jace thought of that night again. It had been the worse night of his life. "And then to find out that the reason I felt like that—like you were some part of me I'd lost and never even knew I was missing until I saw you again—that the reason was that you were my _sister."_ The word came out harsh, but still, Jace pushed on. "It felt like some sort of cosmic joke. Like God was spitting on me. I don't even know for what—thinking that I could actually get to have you, that I deserve something like that, to be that happy. I couldn't imagine what it was I'd done that I was being punished for—"

"If you're being punished, then so am I," Clary said softly, the devastation in her voice more than he could bare. "Because all those things you felt, I felt them too." Dropping her eyes, she shook her head, and Jace wanted so badly to reach for her. "But we can't—" she whispered wretchedly, and Jace clinched his fist. "We have to stop feeling this way, because it's our only chance."

"Our only chance for what?"

"To be together at all," she said meeting his eyes once more. She looked on the verge of tears— _please don't cry, Clary._ "Because otherwise we can't ever be around each other, not even just in the same room, and I can't stand that. I'd rather have you in my life even as a brother than not at all—"

"And I'm supposed to sit by while you date other boys, fall in love with someone else, get married . . .?" Jace asked miserably as he thought of her and Simon. Them being together had nearly killed him—even remembering it still hurt. So the idea of some unknown faceless boy—and Clary, looking at him as she once had Jace—it was too much. It hurt too much. She had to know that. "And meanwhile, I'll die a little bit more each day, watching."

Clary was shaking her head. "No. You wont care by then." But even as she said it, Jace saw the sharp flicker of pain that passed through her eyes. Because they both knew it was a lie. Jace would _always_ care—he would _always_ love her— "Please," she breathed, her lip trembling as she tugged on one of her curls. "If we don't say anything—if we just pretend—"

"There is no pretending," Jace cut her off. It was the truth. And he was done hiding it. "I love you, and I will love you until I die, and if there's a life after that, I'll love you then."

He had said it.

They both stared at each other unmoving—Clary's full lips popping open to make a perfect 'o' as her eyes flew wide. And still, neither of them looked away. Slowly Jace took a breath when she continued to say nothing.

"I know you think that I just want to be with you to—to show myself what a monster I am." He shrugged. "And maybe I am a monster. I don't know the answer to that. But what I do know is that even if there's demon blood inside me, there is human blood inside me as well. And I couldn't love you like I do if I wasn't at least a little bit human. Because demons _want_. But they don't love. And I—" Cutting himself off, he shot to his feet. Clary had continued to say nothing, but her face had said enough. The shock on it was gut wrenching. Perhaps he had gone about this the wrong way. Or maybe he should have said nothing at all. Crossing the room, he stared out the window, angry with the people out there who could tell someone that they loved them without it being wrong or complicated.

"Jace?" Clary's soft voice called out behind him. But he said nothing. What could he possibly say to fix something so broken? And then she was next to him, her hand on his arm. "What's wrong?"

"I shouldn't have told you like that," he said dejectedly, staring at the reflection of them standing together in the window. They were like ghosts—he felt like one. "I'm sorry," he breathed, his voice like a stretched wire. "That was probably a lot to take in. You looked so . . . shocked."

"I was," she admitted softly. "I've spent the last few days wondering if you hated me. And then I saw you tonight and I was pretty sure you did."

"Hated you?" _How could I possibly . . . I could never hate you._ But even as he thought it, he heard Alec's voice telling him to stop acting like he was mad at Clary. Reaching up, he drew a finger gently across her cheek, the feel of her skin sending a shot of heat coursing through his body. "I told you I couldn't sleep. Tomorrow by midnight we'll be either at war or under Valentine's rule. This could be the last night of our lives, certainly the last even barely ordinary one. The last night we go to sleep and get up just as we always have. And all I could think about was that I want to spend it with you."

And Clary gasped, her eyes shooting up to him as the pulse in her throat pounded rapidly. "Jace—"

 _Shit._ "I don't mean like that," he amended quickly. That had come out wrong. "I won't touch you, not if you don't want me to." And then he was begging. "I know it's wrong—God, it's all kinds of wrong—but I just want to lie down with you and wake up with you, just once, just once ever in my life." He couldn't pull his eyes away from the emerald orbs that had captured him so fully and completely. He knew he sounded desperate and probably even pathetic, but he didn't care. "It's just this one night. In the grand scheme of things, how much can one night matter?"

But he knew, even as he said it, that what he was asking mattered. To both of them. He knew he was asking for a lot. Which was why Jace wasn't going to be surprised when she said no. He expected it even. And when she did he would—

"Close the curtains, then," she whispered, taking a step back from him. "Before you come to bed."

Jace turned, the shock clear on his face. She had said yes. She had . . . he could feel his heart pounding as he looked at her. Had she really just said yes? He had told her he loved her. And while she hadn't said it back, she didn't need to. Not with the way she was looking at him now. He felt elated and excited and—catching her arm, he pulled her against him where she would always fit perfectly—no one else. Jace tried to put everything he could into that hug. And she didn't pull away, her hands slipping around his waist and caressing his back softly. "Clary . . ."

"Come to bed," she said, her breath hot against his chest. "It's late."

And then he watched as she turned away from him, his breath hitching as she crawled back into bed, pulling the blankets up to her hips as she looked back up at him. She was looking at him strangely—sadly. Like the thought of doing this hurt her because it could never be more than this. Jace understood it perfectly, for he felt the same. Reaching back, he pulled the curtains shut before slipping out of his jacket. Draping it across a nearby chair, he could feel his pulse racing as he unbuckled his weapons belt and lowered it to the floor, followed by his boots.

And then carefully— _very_ carefully—he got into bed.

His pulse was racing. They were doing this. And he barely let out a breath as he laid back against the pillow. She was facing him, her knees pulled up. He could feel the currant of electricity shooting between them and it made him happier than he had any right to feel. Slowly he lowered his hands to his side and turned his head to look at her. She was watching him, her eyes shining in the moonlight that had managed to filter in through the curtains.

"Goodnight, Clary," he said softly. And she smiled.

Closing his eyes he realized that even if he could sleep, he wouldn't. He didn't want to miss a second of this. His body was a live wire right now—sensitive to her every breath and movement. Which was why he damn near jumped out of his skin when he felt her fingers graze his. Had she meant to touch him? It had been so light, like the brush of a feather, he was sure it was an accident. And yet, he could still feel her. He waited, unsure of what to do. He had told her that he wouldn't touch her unless she wanted him to. So when it became apparent that she meant to be touching him, Jace relaxed, even lifting his own fingers so as to connect a little more firmly. And he could feel her eyes on him. When she still didn't pull away, Jace smiled.

And then she wove her fingers through his, holding tightly to his hand. "Good night," she breathed.

Opening his eyes, Jace looked at her. Her own eyes were closed now, her hand still tightly in his. She looked peaceful. By the Angel he loved her. She may not be his, but he was hers. He would always be hers. And she knew it now. It was all he could ask for. As the time ticked by, Jace stayed perfectly still, watching as Clary slept. He was so afraid of ruining the moment—of accidentally waking her. And he hated knowing that it would have to come to an end eventually. Her hand had stayed in his, her other curled up near her head. With his free hand, he reached over and brushed back a stray curl that had fallen across her eyes.

He froze as she moved, readjusting herself. What was she . . .? His heart began to jack hammer as her hand glided up his arm, sending heat shooting through his body. Was she doing this on purpose? He looked at her in the dark; she seemed to be asleep. And then his hands shot up in surprise as her body began inching closer to him—pushing up against his side and nuzzling him—before her head finally came to rest on his chest, her hand against his stomach.

Jace's breath caught in his throat, his arms suspended above him as he stared down at her in shock and amazement. It wasn't that he was complaining—not even a little bit. It was just that he had not been expecting it. If he had been afraid to breathe before, however, it was nothing compared to now. And what was he supposed to do with his hands? He couldn't exactly keep them held out above them for the rest of the night, but he also wasn't going to wake Clary either. Slowly—so incredibly slowly—he lowered his arms, lying one hand gently across her hand that lay on his stomach and the other around her waist.

And he waited.

When she didn't move, he began to relax—oh who was he kidding? He wasn't going to relax. He could practically hear the steady rhythm of her heart mixing with the terrified drumming of his own; and he could definitely feel the heat of her breath through his shirt. Laying there with her in his arms, he could actually imagine what it would have been like if things had been different. And he reveled in it. Because soon, he would have to leave. The morning would come, bringing with it the truth of tomorrow—the truth about them.

And tonight would just be a dream.

So he would make it the best dream he possibly could.

* * *

 _ **AN:**_ _I know that in the books, Clary states that her and Jace only hold hands . . . but she was asleep and Jace was awake and quite frankly, I just wanted them to cuddle dammit, lol. So I hope you guys liked the slight deviation. As always, **Please Review!**_


	15. The Best of Intentions

**~ Chapter Fourteen ~  
The Best of Intentions  
**

 _Clary,_

 _Despite everything, I can't bear the thought of this ring being lost forever, any more than I can bear the thought of losing you forever. And though I have no choice about the one, at least I can choose about the other. I'm leaving you our family ring because you have as much right to it as I do._

 _I'm writing this watching the sun come up. You're asleep, dreams moving behind your restless eyelids. I wish I knew what you were thinking. I wish I could slip into your head and see the world the way you do. I wish I could see myself the way you do. But maybe I don't want to see that. Maybe it would make me feel even more than I already do that I'm perpetuating some kind of Great Lie on you, and I couldn't stand that._

 _I belong to you. You could do anything you wanted with me and I would let you. You could ask anything of me and I'd break myself trying to make you happy. My heart tells me this is the best and greatest feeling I have ever had. But my mind knows the difference between wanting what you can't have and wanting what you shouldn't want. And I shouldn't want you._

 _All night I've watched you sleeping, watched the moonlight come and go, casting its shadows across your face in black and white. I've never seen anything more beautiful. I think of the life we could have had if things were different, and I can't look at you without feeling like I've tricked you into loving me._

 _The truth no one is willing to say out loud is that no one has a shot against Valentine but me. I can get close to him like no one else can. I can pretend I want to join him and he'll believe me, up until that last moment where I end it all, one way or another. I have something of Sebastian's; I can track him to where my father's hiding. And that's what I'm going to do. So I lied to you last night. I said I just wanted one night with you. But I want every night with you. And that's why I have to slip out of your window now, like a coward. Because if I had to tell you this to your face, I couldn't make myself go. I don't blame you if you hate me, I wish you would._

 _As long as I can still dream, I will dream of you._

 _~Jace_

Jace stared down at the letter. He had started and stopped it so many times, pouring his heart into every word. He had gotten up about an hour ago, knowing that the sooner he left, the better. But then Clary had called out his name. She was still asleep—dreaming of him, it would seem—and he couldn't bring himself to leave. Even asleep, she still had some kind of strange pull over him. So instead he had sat and stared out the window, watching as the first rays of light crested over the hills of Idris. Gold and emerald dancing together in a passionate embrace.

He had to go.

She would wake soon and if he were here when she did . . .

Biting down on his cheek, he crossed over to the bed and lay the letter with their family ring tucked carefully inside it on Clary's nightstand. And then he looked at her. It didn't hurt to look at her like it usually did. Not this time. In fact, he felt for the first time in a long time . . . peaceful. She had given him the one thing he wanted—a night with her. And he would carry it with him to their father. It would be her he thought of when he finally did what he should have done back at Renwicks—drive his blade into Valentine's heart.

"Jace . . .?"

Jace took a breath, his heart skittering at the sound of his name. Clary's brow was furrowed; she sounded anxious, but she was still sleeping. Her hand was stretching across the bed where he had once lay, searching for him. Dropping to his knees, he reached out and took her hand. She instantly relaxed, her lips pulling up slightly at the corners. She was so peaceful in that moment, so beautiful. With his free hand he brushed a ruby curl back from her face.

"I love you, Clary," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Forever."

Gently disengaging his hand from hers, his heart breaking, he quickly made his way to the window and out into the cool morning air before he could talk himself into staying any longer.

Jace walked through the sleeping City of Glass slowly. He knew he should be more rushed. That he should want to go after Sebastian as quickly as he could, and yet he just kept thinking of Clary. Had she woken yet? Had she found his letter? And would that letter be enough? _Of course it won't be enough,_ he chided himself. Clary would see it and immediately freak out. It's what she did. She would probably be angry at him too. Which he deserved. But she wouldn't hate him. He knew that as well—no matter how much he wanted her to. They were bound together, for better or worse. There was nothing either of them could do to change that. He didn't _want_ to change that.

Sighing, Jace pushed his hair back as he passed the Accords Hall, and then stopped abruptly. He had heard voices coming from inside—was that Maryse? What was she doing there so early in the morning? Creeping back, he stood just outside the door listening. That was definitely Maryse, and Robert, and Luke. And some other voices he didn't recognize. It was a meeting of some kind, Jace realized. And Luke was saying something about Downworlders and fighting. There was also a woman, whose voice he didn't recognize, that seemed to be pushing for them to join Valentine. Jace wished he could have been surprised to hear that, but he wasn't. People were scared, and grieving, and panicking—all of which made for a bitter recipe of disaster.

But what of his family? What of Clary? They would not submit to Valentine. So would the other Shadowhunters stand idly by as he cut them down?

 _No._ Jace wouldn't allow it. Not when he knew he could stop his father. He would let Luke know. Luke would understand. And . . . he would be able to help Clary understand. Making a last minute decision, Jace stepped swiftly past the door, hoping to grab Luke's attention . . . also hoping he didn't grab more than that. He didn't want a confrontation with Maryse.

Walking down the steps of the Hall, he waited. Luckily, it was only a few minutes before Luke came walking out of the doors. He looked tired—grayer. He had been through a lot, and they both knew he would be through a lot more before this was over. They all would. Crossing to him, Luke stopped at the top of the stairs, so that he was looking down at Jace.

"What are you doing here, Jonathan?" And Luke flinched upon saying the name. _Jonathan._ Usually the name bothered Jace—but he was his father's son. His fathers creation. He would own it this time. Taking a breath when Jace said nothing, Luke asked, "Are you looking for your parents?"

 _Parents? In a sense._ But Jace had a feeling that _that_ wasn't what Luke had meant. "You mean the Lightwoods?" he asked, his eyes darting past the pack leader to the Hall where he knew both Robert and Maryse were waiting. "No. I don't want to talk to them," he said bringing his attention back to the man in front of him. "I was looking for you."

Luke looked immediately concerned, descending the steps quickly till he was on the step just above Jace. "Is it about Clary?"

Jace tensed at her name. _Yes and no._ But it was more than that. It was the way that Luke had said it—like he knew how Jace felt about her. _He probably does,_ he thought flatly. Everyone seemed to know. "She's fine," he said slowly, meeting Luke's eyes. The pack leader nodded, his shoulders relaxing.

"Then what is it?" he asked.

Turning his attention back to the Accords Hall, Jace tried to decide on how to say what it was he needed to say— _Hey, I'm off to kill daddy dearest. I'll send you a postcard. Give Clary my love_ —just didn't seem all that appropriate. "How is it going in there?" He asked instead. "Any progress?"

And Luke sighed, staring at Jace. Possibly wondering how much he had heard. "Not really," he finally admitted. "As much as they don't want to surrender to Valentine, they like the idea of Downworlders on the Council even less. And without the promise of seats on the Council, my people wont fight."

Jace's eyes widened. Is _that_ what they had been talking about? Downworlders on the Council? "The Clave is going to _hate_ that idea."

"They don't have to love it," Luke said flatly. "They only have to like it better than they like the idea of suicide."

Jace couldn't argue that. They would definitely have a better chance of success if they had help. But not all Shadowhunters would see it that way. "They'll stall," he said slowly, staring back at the Hall. _Because they're stubborn assholes._ "I'd give them a deadline if I were you. The Clave works better with deadlines."

Luke actually smiled at that, letting out a soft breath of laughter. "All the Downworlders I can summon will be approaching the North Gate at twilight. If the Clave agrees to fight with them by then, they'll enter the city. If not, they'll turn around. I couldn't leave it any later than that—it barely gives us enough time to get to Brocelind by midnight as it is."

Letting out a low whistle, Jace cocked a brow as he pictured it—the sight of that many Downworlders storming the gates. He was almost sad that he would be missing it. Almost. "That's theatrical," he said. "Hoping the sight of all those Downworlders will inspire the Clave, or scare them?"

"Probably a little of both," Luke said, crossing his arms. "Many of the Clave members are associated with Institutes, like you; they're a lot more used to the sight of Downworlders. It's the native Idrisians I'm worried about. The sight of Downworlders at their gate might send them into a panic. On the other hand, it can't hurt for them to be reminded how vulnerable they are."

Turning his gaze up toward the black remains of the Gard that scarred the hillside, Jace thought of Hodge. And Max. And the little red haired girl he had seen lying in the streets. And the many others who had lost their lives that night. _Because of my father._ "I'm not sure anyone needs more reminders of that." And then Jace took a breath, turning his attention back to the pack leader who was watching him with pity in his eyes. Jace hated pity, and he bit down on his cheek as he felt his body bristle. But he kept his face hard. _I will not allow my father to cause anymore deaths._ "I want to tell you something, and I want it to be in confidence."

Luke's brows shot up in surprise. "Why tell me? Why not the Lightwoods?"

"Because you're the one in charge here, really," Jace shrugged, remembering how Clary had told them that everyone seemed to listen to Luke. "You know that." _Plus, you're the only one who will truly understand._

Luke let out a breath, but said nothing. He only stared at Jace, as if really seeing him for the first time. And Jace met his gaze with determination. Like him, Luke had been betrayed by Valentine. He had been turned into what he was because of Valentine. And also like Jace, he had had a bond with Valentine that should have been unbreakable. Valentine had probably never counted on his son and _parabatai_ joining forces against him one day. "All right," Luke finally nodded.

"And," Jace added upon hearing Luke's agreement. "Because I trust you to know how to explain it to Clary."

At that Luke tensed. He had obviously not been prepared for Jace to throw that in. "Explain _what_ to Clary?"

"Why I had to do it," he said as he thought of Clary asleep in her bed. So serene. He would do everything in his power to make sure she could sleep that peacefully for years to come. "I'm going after Sebastian, Luke. I know how to find him, and I'm going to follow him until he leads me to Valentine."

"You _know how to find him?"_

Jace rubbed at his eyes. His energy rune was wearing off; he would have to Mark himself again before he left. "Magnus showed me how to use a tracking spell when I was staying with him in Brooklyn. We were trying to use my fathers ring to find him. It didn't work, but—"

"You're not a warlock," Luke cut in, and Jace nearly laughed. _No, I'm something much worse._ "You shouldn't be able to do tracking spells."

But he didn't laugh. There was nothing funny about what he was. "These are runes. Like the way the Inquisitor watched me when I went to see Valentine on the ship. All I needed to make it work was something of Sebastian's."

Luke was shaking his head now. "We went over this at the Penhallows. He left nothing behind. His room was utterly cleared out, probably for exactly this reason."

"I found something," Jace said, thinking of last night as he stood in the dark with Clary on the front porch of Amatis' house. "A thread soaked in his blood." He decided to leave out where he had gotten it from—he didn't think Luke needed that bit of detail. "I tried it, and it worked."

Luke was shaking his head again—or maybe he never stopped. He looked alarmed. "You can't go haring off after Valentine on your own, Jace. I won't let you."

"You can't stop me. Not really," Jace sighed with fatigue. It wasn't a challenge. Just a simple fact. And yet Luke was still staring at him like he was seriously contemplating it. Jace raised a brow. "Unless you want to fight me right here on the steps." Jace hated himself for suggesting it. Especially seeing the look on the pack leaders face. It was as though he'd been slapped. But still— "You wont win, either," he pressed on. "You know that as well as I do."

"Look," the pack leader sighed, fixing his glasses. "However determined you may be to play the solitary hero—"

"I'm not a hero." Jace cut in blandly. _I'm anything but a hero._

Luke switched tracks. "Think of what this will do to the Lightwoods, even if nothing happens to you. Think of Clary—"

"You think I _haven't_ thought of Clary?" Jace's tone was an arctic blade, his body tense and his eyes flashing dangerously as his adrenaline began to pound through his veins. "You think I _haven't_ thought of my family? Why do you think I'm doing this?"

But Luke wasn't even remotely put off by Jace's demeanor. He was only watching him sadly. "Do you think I don't remember what it was like to be seventeen?" he asked reasonably. "To think you have the power to save the world—and not just the power but the responsibility—"

"Look at me," Jace said insistently, holding out his arms. "Look at me and tell me I'm an ordinary seventeen-year-old." _Because I assure you, I'm not. The Angel knows I wish I was. And I wish Clary wasn't my sister; that Valentine wasn't my father . . ._

Luke let out a breath. "There's nothing ordinary about you."

"Now tell me it's impossible. Tell me what I'm suggesting can't be done." Jace said, unsure whether he was demanding it or pleading it. Maybe a little bit of both. But Luke said nothing. What _could_ he say? They both knew the truth of the situation. "Look," Jace sighed, "your plan is fine, as far as that goes. Bring in Downworlders, fight Valentine all the way to the gates of Alicante. It's better than just lying down and letting him walk over you. But he'll expect it. You won't be catching him by surprise. I—I could catch him by surprise. He may not know Sebastian's being followed. It's a chance at least, and we have to take whatever chances we get."

"That may be true," Luke said slowly, his head shaking. "But this is too much to expect of any one person. Even you."

"But don't you see—it can only be me." And he could hear the desperation in his voice. He didn't care. "Even if Valentine senses I'm following him, he might let me get close enough—"

"Close enough to do _what?"_ Luke asked carefully, his eyes narrowing.

And Jace met the pack leaders gray eyes. "To kill him," he said solemnly. _To make him pay for what he's done._ "What else?"

"You could do that?" Luke asked. He looked pained. But there was something else—something Jace couldn't put his finger on. "You could kill your own father?"

"Yes." There was a time when he couldn't, but he could do it now. He _had_ to do it. For Clary and Max and his family. For the world. Jace's head listed to the side thoughtfully as he looked up at the man that Clary thought of as a father. He was a good dad. And he was glad that Clary had him. "Now is this where you tell me I can't kill him because he is, after all, my father, and patricide is an unforgivable crime?"

"No," Luke sighed. _Resigned_ —that's what it was, Jace realized. Luke knew he was going to go, and had accepted it. "This is the part where I tell you that you have to be sure you're capable of it. You can't do all this, cut your ties here—" he gestured back toward the Hall, "—and hunt Valentine down on your own, just to fail at the final hurdle."

"Oh, I'm capable of it." Jace said more savagely than he meant to, and he looked out at the square as he got a rein on his emotions. The sun was nearly up now and soon people would be moving through the streets. He wanted to make sure he was gone before that happened. Behind him, he could feel Luke's eyes on him, and Jace sighed. "My father made me what I am," he said then. "And I hate him for it. I can kill him. He made sure of that."

"Whatever your upbringing, Jace," Luke began delicately, "you've fought it. He didn't corrupt you—"

"No," said Jace. "He didn't have to." _He did something so much worse._ The scars on his back, the scars on his mind . . . they were nothing compared to the truth of what his father had done to him. A bird flew by overhead and Jace tracked its flight before saying, "I'd better go."

"Is there something you wanted me to tell the Lightwoods?" Luke called out as Jace began to descend down the steps.

Jace stopped and looked back up at him, squinting slightly in the morning sun. "No," he shook his head. "No, don't tell them anything. They'll just blame you if they find out you knew what I was going to do and you let me go. I left notes. They'll figure it out."

Luke's brow furrowed. "Then why—"

"Did I tell you all this?" Jace finished for him. _Because you were my father's_ parabatai _. Because you're Clary's father. Because we're the same. Because like it or not, you're leading this whole fucking thing._ But in the end Jace said, "Because I want you to know. I want you to keep it in mind while you make your battle plans. That I'm out there, looking for Valentine. If I find him, I'll send you a message." _I'm off to kill daddy dearest, I'll send you a postcard._ Jace couldn't help but smile at how his previous though had become reality. "Think of me as your backup plan."

Luke took a step down to meet Jace where he stood and reached for him—Jace flinching back ever so slightly as he did so—clasping his hand tightly. "If your father weren't who he is, he'd be proud of you."

Jace stared at the pack leader in shock, his mouth opening. _I'm exactly what my father made me._ And then he could feel the heat rising to his face and he quickly took his hand back. "If you knew—" Jace bit down, cutting himself off. "Never mind. Good luck to you Lucian Graymark. _Ave atque vale."_

"Let us hope there will be no real farewell," Luke replied solemnly. Behind him, the sun was getting brighter as it chased the remainder of the nights shadows away. And Jace watched. It might be the last time he got to watch something as beautiful as the sunrise—or the clouds drifting by lazily, without a care in the world. And it might be the last time he got to hear the song of the morning birds. Because if all went as planned, Valentine would be dead tonight. But if things didn't go as planned—

"You remind me of someone," Luke said suddenly. Almost as if in shock. "Someone I knew years ago."

Jace lowered his head slowly to meet his gaze. "I know," he said bitterly. "I remind you of Valentine." _I remind everyone of Valentine._

But Luke only shook his head, his eyes wide and curious. "No—I wasn't thinking of Valentine at all."

.

.

Simon watched as Isabelle poked at the lump in the pan. She was supposed to be making him pancakes, not that he could actually eat them. But it was still a nice gesture. All the same, he remembered the fish and peanut soup with clarity. So even if he _could_ eat them, he wasn't sure he would.

"Are you sure you don't want me to show you?" Simon asked. He was sitting at the table, his feet propped up on a chair at Luke's sister's house. Isabelle had woken hungry, and had wanted to make breakfast. Simon, on the other hand, had figured he'd better get back home. Isabelle, shrugging, had opted to come with him.

"No," she snapped, her eyes flicking to him. "I know how to make pancakes."

 _I don't think you do._ At her tone, however, Simon put up his hands defensively. Though he was still smiling. "I was just asking." And then he paused, his head listing to the side. "It's just—"

 _"No,_ Simon!"

Near the door, Amatis, who was leaning against one of the counters, said nothing—though Simon with his super hearing, heard her soft breath of laughter. Grinning, Simon looked at Luke's sister and shrugged as Izzy turned her attention back to the pan and used the spoon she was holding to try to flip the pancake thing. It broke. Simon thought about mentioning that a spatula would work better, but changed his mind as she turned to look at him. Even with her hair up in a loose bun and an apron, she still looked like she could kick his ass. Leaning back in his chair, smiling at the dark haired girl in front of him, he thought about last night. She had let him into her room. He still couldn't believe it; nor that he had slept with her curled into his side the whole night. It had been . . . strange and sad and exciting. He'd have preferred it to be under different circumstances. Breaking away from his thoughts, Simon watched as she got ready to attempt lumpy flip number two, when Clary came bursting into the room like a bat out of hell. Lifting her spoon, Izzy waved it at her.

"Good morning," she said, without actually looking at her. "Would you like breakfast? Although I guess it's more like lunchtime."

Clary's eyes flashed to Simon, who smiled, and then to Amatis in surprise. Luke's sister only shrugged. "They showed up and wanted to make breakfast," she nodded with amusement. "And I have to admit, I'm not that good a cook."

At least Isabelle wasn't alone in that, Simon thought. But it would only ever remain a thought. He wasn't stupid enough to say that out loud. Though this was still one of the few times he was glad he couldn't eat.

"Where's Luke?" asked Clary, looking around as if she were expecting him to pop out of the pantry. Something in her voice grabbed Simon's attention, and he really looked at her. Her dark Shadowhunter gear was fastened hastily in a few places and her ruby curls looked as if she had brushed them with her fingers. But there was something more. This wasn't the _'I just woke up late for school'_ Clary—this was the _'something bad's happened'_ Clary. But before he could remark on it, Amatis was answering her question.

"In Brocelind, with his pack," she said. "Is everything all right, Clary? You look a little . . ."

"Wild eyed," Simon finished. _"Is_ everything all right?" At his question, Clary stared at him intently enough to make him slightly uncomfortable. Something was definitely wrong.

"I'm fine," she said sounding anything but fine. "I need to talk to Isabelle."

"So talk," Isabelle said flippantly, without turning. She was poking at whatever was in that pan. Simon was sure it had stopped being a pancake a long time ago. "I'm listening."

 _"Alone."_ Clary said pointedly.

"Can't it wait?" Izzy asked, turning to actually look at Clary, her full lips tugging into an annoyed frown. "I'm almost done."

"No," Clary said. Simon could hear her heart pounding. "It can't."

Before Isabelle could protest, Simon stood up. "Fine," he said, watching Clary curiously. Whatever it was, he was sure that she would tell him soon enough. "We'll give you two some privacy." And then he turned his gaze to Amatis. "Maybe you could show me those baby pictures of Luke you were talking about."

"I suppose I could . . ." Amatis said slowly, watching the two girls with concern. But then Simon led her out of the room, leaving Isabelle and Clary alone as he shut the door behind them. In the living room, Amatis and Simon stood awkwardly staring at each other. "Do you think Clary's okay?" she asked staring at the closed door. "Should I go get Luke?"

But Simon only shook his head just as Isabelle asked Clary if this was about him. Clary assured her it wasn't. It was about Jace. Izzy should realize that it would always be about Jace. Turning his attention back to Amatis, he said, "If Clary wanted Luke here, she'd have gone to get him herself." And then he crossed over to the couch. "So those baby pictures?"

Amatis stared at him. "You actually want to see those?" she asked surprised. "I thought you were just saying it as an excuse to leave."

"Well, I was," Simon conceded. "But I'm also a glutton for awkward high school photos. What can I say? I'm and awkward teenager and I like seeing other people as awkward teenagers. Makes me feel better about myself."

With the hint of a smile, Amatis went and grabbed a box out of a nearby cabinet before coming to sit next to Simon. He noticed that she never fully relaxed, but she wasn't throwing crosses at him either . . . so that was at least something. He knew that it was for Luke that she was trying. But regardless he appreciated it.

 _"This seems kind of—personal. Are you sure I should be reading it?"_

 _"Just read to the end."_

"So we don't have high schools, like you would probably think," Amatis said, handing Simon a picture. "We had an Academy—The Shadowhunter Academy. It's where a lot of us met. That's Luke," she said pointing at the picture, and Simon looked down at it. The boy Amatis had pointed out was clad in Shadowhunter gear, his dark hair was messy in a way that could only be described as cool, and he had a smug grin on his face. Luke didn't look like an awkward teenager at all. He looked like the type of popular kid that would have beat Simon up for playing Dungeons and Dragons. And then his eyes traveled to the guy next to him—tall, blonde, his eyes weren't nearly as cruel as Simon remembered them being. Seeing where his focus was, Amatis pointed. "I'm sure you recognize Valentine. And there's Jocelyn, Clary's mom."

 _"I thought he might do something like this."_

 _"You see what I mean? We have to go after him—what do you mean, you thought he might do something like this?"_

Simon focused on the picture. Jocelyn looked like Clary. Or Clary looked like Jocelyn. Regardless, their resemblance when she was younger was uncanny. And then his eyes traveled back to Valentine. It was hard to look away from the man that had slit your throat and wrists. "Valentine doesn't look as—"

"Angry?" Amatis offered.

Simon shook his head. "I was gonna say evil and psychotic."

"Well, he wouldn't." Amatis shrugged taking the photo back. "This was when the Circle was just starting. That, and he had Jocelyn. She was the only one capable of reining him in back then."

 _"I might have known that if Jace found anything that would allow him to track Sebastian, he'd be off like a shot. I just would have hoped that he'd have brought Alec with him. Alec wont be happy."_

 _"So you think Alec will want to go after him, then?"_

Jace found something of Sebastian's? He was going after him? Shaking his head, Simon looked at Amatis. "I didn't think anyone would have been able to rein Valentine in."

"Well, he was, and is, a lot of things," she said tossing the picture back into the box. "And being in love with Jocelyn was always one of them." She pulled out another picture. This one had four people in it—Jocelyn, Valentine, Amatis, and . . .

"Whose that?" Simon asked pointing at the fourth person. The boy had blonde hair and an arrogant grin, his blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight. His arm was casually tossed around Amatis's shoulder, and she was staring up at him like he hung the moon.

"That's Stephen. My . . . ex-husband." She looked at the photo almost wistfully, and Simon felt there was a memory there that he probably should not intrude on. But it was strange—from the angle in which the photo had been taken . . . Stephen looked like Jace. Especially with the pompous ass smile.

 _"Do you even want to find him? Do you even care that he's gone off on what's practically a suicide mission? He can't face Valentine down all by himself!"_

 _"Probably not. But I trust Jace has his reasons for—"_

 _"For what? For wanting to die?"_

 _"Clary!"_

"This is Luke when he was about ten."

Simon blinked, staring down at the photo. Clary and Isabelle were making it hard to concentrate. Taking the picture, he looked at it without actually seeing it. Clary and Isabelle were really starting to argue now. She had mentioned Max—which even Simon thought was a low blow, given how long he spent consoling Izzy last night. And Isabelle seemed to agree because she was hissing angrily at Clary now. Both of their hearts were pounding loudly—their pulses racing with the ferocity of the ocean.

 _"Valentine will kill Jace if he has to."_

 _"I know."_

 _"But all that matters is if he goes out in glory? Won't you even miss him?"_

 _"I will miss him every day."_

"Oh!" Amatis said suddenly, getting to her feet. "I know some photos that might interest you. I keep them in my room. Let me go grab them real quick. I'll be right back."

"Famous last words," Simon smiled, and Amatis stalled at the stairs, looking at him nervously.

"What?"

"In horror movies . . . they always say _'I'll be right back'_ and . . . and . . ." his voice died as Amatis's frown deepened. He forgot that most Shadowhunters weren't up to date on pop culture, and she probably thought he had lost his mind. "Never mind," he said instead. And she nodded, casting one last unsure glance at him before disappearing up the stairs.

 _"I do get it. I know you don't like me, Isabelle. Because I'm a mundane to you."_

 _"You think_ that's _why—_ "

Isabelle broke off in her anger and Simon leaned back on the couch, closing his eyes and rubbing at his temples. He didn't actually have a headache—he didn't get them anymore—but he felt like he should at hearing them, and that this was the only appropriate response.

 _"God, you don't know anything, do you? You've known Jace for what, a month? I've known him for seven years. And all the time I've known him, I've never seen him fall in love, never seen him even like anyone. He'd hook up with girls, sure. Girls always fell in love with him, but he never cared. I think that's why Alec thought—"_

Simon got to his feet and crossed to the window, staring out at the bright day. It was funny. Everything Isabelle was saying about, Jace— _he_ could say about Clary. Not that she hooked up with guys, or anything like that. She just never seemed interested in anyone. Ever. Even when Simon had tried to tell her how he had once felt about her . . . she seemed to have absolutely no clue at what he was trying to get at. She had even suggested other girls he should hook up with. But it wasn't just him. Simon remembered other boys at school showing interest in her as well, and she just never seemed to notice it or care.

 _"And then he met you, and it was like he woke up."_ And Simon remembered how Clary kept looking at Jace that night at Luke's house. _"You couldn't see it, because you'd never known him any different. But I saw it. Hodge saw it. Alec saw it—why do you think he hated you so much?"_ Simon saw it in Clary—it was why he had hated Jace so much. _"It was like that from the second we met you. You thought it was amazing that you could see us, and it was, but what was amazing was that Jace could see you, too."_

Closing the curtains, Simon leaned up against the wall. It was probably the first time Clary had ever seen someone clearly, as well. And then he sighed, he wished he could go somewhere else. This really was a private conversation. But there was no where he could go. He was a vampire in a city full of Shadowhunters. The streets here were probably more dangerous for him than the streets of New York at night.

 _"Wherever you were in the room, he watched you . . . he was even jealous of Simon."_ At hearing his name, Simon looked up at the closed door in surprise. Jace had been jealous of him? Now that was something Simon had a hard time believing. Simon had been the jealous one, not Jace. Jace was only ever just stupidly perfect Jace. _"I'm not sure he realized it himself, but he was. I could tell. Jealous of a mundane. And then after what happened to Simon at the party, he was willing to go with you to the Dumort, to break Clave Law, just to save a mundane he didn't even like. Because if anything had happened to Simon, you would have been hurt. You were the first person whose happiness I'd ever seen him take into consideration. Because he_ loved _you."_

Simon heard Clary swallow—the catch in her voice.

 _"That was before—"_

 _"Before he found out you were his sister. I know. And I don't blame you for that. You couldn't have known. And I guess you couldn't have helped that you just went right on ahead and dated Simon afterward like you didn't even care."_

At hearing that, Simon felt a surge of annoyance. Clary had just learned that Jace was her brother. What was she supposed to have done? Become a spinster? No, she had tried to move on—just as Jace had with Aline. Not that it mattered, cause neither relationship had worked. Simon had known it wasn't going to work out between him and Clary from the very beginning, though he had loved her for trying. And if he remembered correctly, Isabelle and Alec had urged Jace to move on, too. So why was it Clary's fault that he didn't? And where the hell was Amatis? Simon could really use a distraction right now. But she was probably doing the smart thing and hiding away from this awkwardness.

 _"I don't know what Valentine did to him when he was a child. I don't know if that's why he us the way he is, or if it's just the way he's made, but he wont get over you Clary. He can't. I started hating seeing you. I hated for Jace to see you. It's like an injury you get from demon poison—you have to leave it alone and let it heal. Every time you rip the bandages off, you just open the wound again. Every time he sees you, it's like tearing off the bandages."_

That was a bit harsh, and Simon had nearly crossed to the door to tell her so, when he was stalled by Clary's shuddering breath.

 _"I know. How do you think it is for me?"_

 _"I don't know. I can't tell what you're feeling. You're not my sister."_

That was true. Clary wasn't Isabelle's sister. But she was Simon's best friend. They had spent every waking moment together since grade school. He knew Clary better than anyone. And he had seen the pain and torment she had gone through at learning Jace was her brother. He had seen the struggles she went through over her feelings for him—and the heartbreak she had endured when she had finally accepted the way she felt only to be told by Jace that he just wanted to be her brother.

 _"Why are you telling me all this?"_

 _"Because you're accusing me of not wanting to protect Jace. But I_ do _want to protect him. Why do you think I was so upset when you suddenly showed up at the Penhallows? You act as if you're not a part of this, of our world; you stand on the sidelines, but you are apart of it. You're central to it. You can't just pretend to be a bit player forever, Clary, not when you're Valentine's daughter. Not when Jace is doing what he's doing partly because of you."_

 _"Because of me?"_

 _"Why do you think he's willing to risk himself? Why do you think he doesn't care if he dies? He's always thought something was wrong with him, and now, because of you, he thinks he's cursed forever. I heard him say to Alec. Why_ not _risk your life, if you don't want to live anyway? Why_ not _risk your life if you'll never be happy no matter what you do."_

Clary let out a soft strangled sob, and Simon was moving. He had heard enough. To put this all on Clary . . . to blame her for Jace's actions—for his possible death . . . it was wrong. He pushed open the door.

"Isabelle, that's enough," he said firmly. The girls were sitting at the kitchen table, both of them with unshed tears that were threatening to fall. And the tension in the room was thick—much thicker than Simon had thought it would be. Though, given the conversation, he wasn't sure why he would expect anything different. Clary and Isabelle looked up at him, Clary in surprise and Isabelle with anger. "It's not Clary's fault."

"Stay out of this, Simon," Isabelle snapped, her face flushing crimson. "You don't know what's going on."

How he wished that were true. He could be home right now; playing World of Warcraft on his computer and pretending that fairy tails were still a myth. Instead he was here. Stepping further into the kitchen, he closed the door softly behind him. "I heard most of what you've been saying," he said slowly, his eyes moving back and forth between Clary's and Isabelle's. "Even through the wall," he said jerking his head toward the living room. And then he focused on Isabelle. Beautiful Isabelle who only wanted to protect her brother. "You said you don't know what Clary's feeling because you haven't known her long enough. Well, I have," he said pointedly, shoving his hands in his pockets. "If you think Jace is the only one who's suffered, you're wrong there."

And everyone was silent. Isabelle was staring at Simon as if she weren't sure whether she wanted to hug him or hit him—he hoped it was hug. She punched hard. And Clary, looking down at the table as she turned something silver in her hands nervously. At the other end of the house, there was a knock at the door—probably someone bringing a message from Luke—and Simon heard the sound of Amatis' footsteps descending the stairs. But the three teenagers in the room did not move. It was a little while longer before anyone spoke.

"It's not because of me that he left," Clary whispered, still turning the glinting piece of silver. It looked like a ring. Her heart was pounding hard and it made Simon uneasy. "When Jace and I went to the Wayland manor—when we went to find the Book of the White—"

She was cut off as Amatis pushed the door to the kitchen open, her expression that of having seen a ghost. On the other side of the door, out of sight, Simon could hear the heavy sound of breathing and a racing heart. Who was here? What had happened? Before he could ask, however, Amatis, who only looked at Clary, spoke. "Clary," she said slowly . . . almost cautiously. "There's someone here to see you—"

And that someone cut her off, pushing herself into the room. Simon felt himself go rigid—the shock running through his body as he took in the slender woman dressed in black Shadowhunter gear. He had never seen her wear Shadowhunter gear before—only overalls that were usually splattered with paint. And her red hair was pulled back tightly instead of its usually messy bun with paintbrushes and pencils sticking through it.

Jocelyn was staring wide eyed at her daughter.

Next to him, Clary took a breath.

* * *

 _ **AN:** Sorry this took so long. I moved into a new house . . . so I had to put it on pause in order to pack and, you know, move, lol. And then there was the second half of this. I wasn't sure how to write it. Well that's not completely accurate. I wasn't sure whose POV to write it in. I ended up writing three. Simon's, Izzy's, and Jocelyn's. In the end, I went with Simon. So I hope you guys like it! And as always, **Please Review!**  
_


	16. Not Done Yet

**~ Chapter Fifteen ~**  
 **Not Done Yet**

From the moment she woke up yesterday, Jocelyn could only think of one thing. Getting to Clary. She had sat impatiently and horrified as Magnus told her everything that had happened while she'd been asleep—though some of it she already knew. The potion that had rendered her unconscious, had not rendered her deaf, and her time spent with Valentine had told her much more than she ever wished she knew. But there was still so much that she did not know. And the more Magnus told her . . . the more terrified she became. She had tried so hard to keep all this from Clary! The things she had done . . . the life she had given up . . . all for her daughter.

And it was for nothing.

But it was when Magnus said that Clary was in Idris— _Idris!_ —that Jocelyn nearly came unglued. She had all but scrambled out of her hospital bed. Catarina was there, watching Jocelyn with her big blue eyes that matched her skin color. Jocelyn only stopped briefly to thank her for all her help before she practically drug Magnus out of the building. They had first Portaled to her old house—the brown stone apartment. She knew that Dorothea was no longer there—that the Cup she had carefully hidden inside those tarot cards had been found—that her own house had been gutted. But she had to see it. Knowing that her daughter had been there . . . that she had been saved by a Shadowhunter . . . and that she had nearly been killed . . .

They didn't stay long.

From the brownstone, they Portaled to Luke's house.

"Luke kept things," Jocelyn had explained. "Things he thought I might need someday—even if I was too stubborn to agree."

Standing in Luke's bedroom, she had stared at herself in the mirror with both shock and sadness. The Shadowhunter gear still fit. It felt wrong. It felt right. Pulling her hair back into a tight ponytail, she turned to Magnus.

"Take me to my daughter."

"I will take you as far as the gates of Alicante."

Running through the city, Jocelyn thought of all the things she would say to Clary. Thought about how she could possibly apologize for all this. For how scared she must have been. As she moved, some heads turned to look at her curiously—many knew who she was. The wife of Valentine. But she stopped for none. When she reached Amatis's house, she had only just been able to keep herself from bowling the woman over who had so long ago dismissed Luke because of what he had been turned into. But Amatis had taken in Clary. She had cared for her. So that had to count for something, right? Plus the shock on Amatis' face was enough.

And then Jocelyn's heart was pounding as she was led through the house toward the kitchen. She noticed that the house had not changed since she had last been here, everything as it was when Amatis and Stephen had still been together. Jocelyn wasn't sure if she should find it heartbreaking or pathetic. But then she heard talking and all thoughts of the house were put out of mind. She could hear her daughter.

Amatis entered first. "Clary . . . There's someone here to see you—"

But Jocelyn couldn't wait for introductions. She needed to see her daughter. It was a pull that you couldn't explain unless you were a mother. The need to see your child whole and safe. Pushing Amatis out of the way, she entered the kitchen. And stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth popping open. There was her daughter. Her bright, beautiful daughter—in Shadowhunter gear very much like the one she wore. No, no, no. It was like being doused in ice water. She didn't want this for her! She never wanted this for her! Not this life filled with death and destruction!

"Clary," Jocelyn breathed in horror, her eyes wide. "Your clothes."

Of all the things she'd thought she'd say to her daughter, that was not it . . . but the sight of her looking so grown and so deadly—it brought back too many harsh memories from when Jocelyn was her age. And Clary, she only just stared at her with something akin to shock as she looked down at the black gear she wore as though she didn't know she was wearing it. Slowly, she lifted her green eyes back up to Jocelyn as she got to her feet. She looked lost. Leaning forward, Clary clutched at the table as if she might fall over and Jocelyn moved forward quickly.

"Clary—"

Her daughter jerked away, her eyes flaring, as she backed quickly across the room. Jocelyn swallowed hard, her body trembling. She wanted to go to her, but it was clear from Clary's actions that she did not want her mother. Jocelyn heart broke at seeing her looking so upset—she could feel her eyes burning with threatening tears.

"What's going on here?" Demanded a voice as another chair scrapped across the floor. "Who are you?"

Blinking, Jocelyn turned to look at the girl standing there with her hand under her apron and her pulse spiked. _"Maryse."_ she breathed in shock, bringing her hand to her heart as though it might help stop the vicious pounding of it. How long had it been since they had seen one another? Sixteen years? They had not parted on good terms.

"How do you know my mother's name?" The girl asked startled, and Jocelyn felt her body relax only a fraction.

"Of course," she said slowly, lowering her hand. "You're her daughter. It's just—you look so much like her." Taking a breath, Jocelyn tried to force herself to sound much calmer than she felt as she took in the girls permanent Marks on her skin, as well as the silver scars of Marks since faded. "I'm Jocelyn Fr—" she hesitated. There was no sense in using that name anymore, was there? "—Fairchild. I'm Clary's mother."

Slowly, the girl removed her hand out from under her apron. If she was anything like her mother, Jocelyn was sure there was a weapon hidden under there. "But you were in the hospital," she said with confusion, her dark eyes darting cautiously to Clary. "In New York."

"I was," Jocelyn nodded as she regained herself. "But thanks to my daughter, I'm fine now." She turned to look at Clary, who was pressed against the counter. "And I'd like a moment with her."

But it was Amatis who answered, moving further into the kitchen. "I'm not sure that she wants a moment with you," she said, not unkindly. Though the words were jarring to hear. Reaching forward, Amatis put a gentle hand on Jocelyn's shoulder. "This must be a shock for her—"

Jocelyn jerked out from under her touch. She knew she should be grateful to the woman who had taken in her daughter—and she was—but old memories did not go away as easily. Shaking her head, Jocelyn said nothing to Amatis, but instead took a step toward Clary. She wanted to take her into her arms. To tell her she loved her. To apologize that she ever got caught up in this. "Clary—"

"How did you get here, Jocelyn?" Clary spit, and Jocelyn took a step back as if she had been slapped. Her daughter had never talked to her like that—not ever. Not even when they would fight about Pandemonium or staying out late or . . . and she had never called her by her first name!

"I Portaled to just outside the city with Magnus Bane," she said with uncertainty. Her daughter looked so angry. So hurt. "Yesterday he came to me in the hospital—he brought the antidote. He told me everything you did for me. All I've wanted since I woke up was to see you . . ." She said slowly, reaching for her. But at her words, Clary's eyes flashed furiously and Jocelyn hesitated. "Clary, is something wrong?"

"Why didn't you ever tell me I had a brother?"

Jocelyn's heart plummeted. She felt sick. She could tell that her baby was hurting, and no mother ever wanted their child to hurt. But she did not move forward any further. Instead she dropped her hands. Magnus had mentioned Clary finding out about her brother, but Jocelyn had learned of his fate from Valentine. "I thought he was dead," she said truthfully. "I thought it would only hurt you to know."

"Let me tell you something, Mom," retorted Clary. It was clear she was trying hard not to yell. "Knowing is better than not knowing. Every time."

And just how was she supposed to tell her the truth? How did you tell someone that their father was a psychopath who poisoned his wife and child—turned his child into something dark and inhuman and evil and—Jocelyn swallowed. She said none of this. "I'm sorry—"

 _"Sorry?"_ Clary cut her off, her eyes narrowed and unforgiving. Pushing off the counter, she drew her shoulders back. "Do you want to explain why you never told me I was a Shadowhunter? Or that my father was still alive? Oh, and how about the bit where you paid Magnus to seal my memories?"

"I was trying to protect you—"

"Well you did a terrible job!" Clary screamed at her, causing Jocelyn to jump. She had never seen Clary so upset. "What did you expect to happen to me after you disappeared? If it hadn't been for Jace and the others, I'd be dead." And Jocelyn flinched at the word. She knew this. She should have known better—hidden better! She thought she had. But Clary only shook her head. "You never showed me how to protect myself," she continued, her voice filled with hate and accusation. "You never told me how dangerous things really were. What did you think? That if I couldn't see the bad things, that meant they couldn't see me?" She blinked hard—a tell-tale sign that she was trying hard not to cry. "You knew Valentine wasn't dead. You told Luke you thought he was still alive."

"That's why I had to hide you," Jocelyn said, pleading with her to understand. "I couldn't risk letting Valentine know where you were. I couldn't let him touch you—"

"Because he turned your first child into a monster?" Clary cut in with such raw anger that Jocelyn felt her whole body go rigid. She knew—Clary knew what her brother was. She could see it in her eyes.

"Yes," Jocelyn breathed miserably. She wished it wasn't so. She wished every day that Jonathan wasn't what he was. "Yes, but that's not all it was, Clary—"

"You stole my memories," Clary cut her off again. "You took them away from me. You took away who I was."

"That's not who you are!" Jocelyn cried, her head shaking. "I never wanted it to be who you were—"

"It doesn't matter what you wanted!" Clary screamed at her, throwing her hands into the air. "It _is_ who I am! You took all that away from me and _it didn't belong to you!"_

Jocelyn stared. What could she say? What could she possibly say to make any of this better again? There was nothing, she realized. Not a damn thing that would ever make this right. And Clary seemed to know that. She could feel her heart sinking as tears filled her daughters eyes. And she did nothing as Clary clapped a hand over her mouth and ran out of the kitchen. She didn't stop her. She didn't do anything. She felt numb.

Long after the front door slammed shut, she was only vaguely aware of Amatis leading her to the chair that Clary had vacated.

Sitting in it, she stared at the wall. "She hates me," Jocelyn breathed to no one in particular.

"I wouldn't say that."

Glancing up, she took in the tall boy who was standing there looking at her. Simon. He was here in Alicante? She hadn't even noticed him when she had barged in. She had been so focused on Clary. Magnus had briefly spoken about what had happened to Clary's best friend, but the warlock had somehow forgotten to mention that he was here in the City of Glass. Jocelyn swallowed painfully as she took in his pale features. He wasn't wearing his glasses anymore. He didn't need to, she realized. It was strange how much that one concept pained her. Getting up, she wrapped the boy in a tight hug. He was cool to the touch.

"Magnus told me what happened to you," she breathed as Simon returned the hug. "I am so sorry you were dragged into this, Simon."

Gently letting her go, Simon shrugged, his eyes darting toward Maryse's daughter. "I'm not. I mean . . . I could have gone without the whole undead thing, but . . . you know me. I'll adapt."

Jocelyn gave a weak smile. She felt sick. Her daughter was a Shadowhunter, her daughter's best friend was a vampire, and her husband and son were back from the dead. Everything she had tried to escape—to keep her daughter safe from. It had all come back to bite her in the ass. Jocelyn didn't remember sitting back down, but there she was . . . back in the chair. Amatis was watching her nervously and Simon and the girl were over by the door talking. Nodding, the girl turned and left.

"If I remember correctly," Amatis said over by the sink now. She was filling a small silver kettle. "You used to like drinking hot water with lemon in it, right?"

"What?" Jocelyn blinked. "Oh, yeah. I mean—yes, please." And then she turned her eyes to Simon. "Why don't you tell me what all has happened since I've been gone. Magnus told me some, but I don't think he told me nearly enough—"

"Jocelyn."

Jocelyn felt every muscle in her body tense at her name as she looked up to see Luke standing in the doorway, staring at her with disbelieving eyes. He was wearing one of the flannel's she had gotten him for Christmas a couple years back, and his jeans were worn down in some places. His greying hair was windswept as though he'd been running, and he had dark circles under his eyes that were in conflict to how wide awake he looked right now. She felt her pulse racing as it always did when he was near her. Seeing him standing there was the first time she felt any sense of relief or normalcy since waking.

Getting unsteadily to her feet, she let out a shuddering breath. "Luke."

And then he was there, his strong arms wrapping around her as he pulled her against him. She pressed her face into his chest, breathing him in. From what Magnus had told her, Luke had taken care of Clary since this all happened. It was what Luke had told her, too. Back when she was in the hospital, she had heard him talking to her. But then, Luke had always treated Clary like she was his own. And despite herself, Jocelyn thought about how he had once proposed to her. She thought about how she wished he had done it, not because he felt compelled to, but because he had genuinely wanted to. It was one of the reasons she had said no. But that was long ago. All the same, she held on longer than she had any right to. She needed him more than she had any right to.

Slowly, Luke lowered her back into the chair just as Amatis brought over a mug of steaming lemon water. Wrapping her hands around it, Jocelyn let the warmth of it spread through her body.

"Luke . . . Clary, she—"

"She'll be okay," Luke said softly, taking the empty seat next to her. "But there are some things you should know."

.

.

As Simon crested the Hill of the Gard, he smiled at seeing Clary sprawled on her stomach in the grass. He should've realized sooner that this was where she would be. It definitely would have saved him from three hours of hopelessly searching the city for her. He had even tried Izzy's house—not that Clary and her had exactly parted on the best of terms. She hadn't been there, of course, but he had scored himself an awesome jacket . . . so it wasn't a complete bust.

Stopping next to her, Simon watched as she pulled fistfuls of grass angrily out of the ground. Those tiny soft green blades never stood a chance. When she still didn't notice her best friend standing there, Simon tucked Clary's green coat under his arm, stuck his hands in his pockets, and sighed.

"Mind if I join you?"

Startled, Clary rolled onto her side to stare up at him. Her eyes were red, but any tears that might have fallen had since dried. It was clear that she was still upset. But between Isabelle's harsh words and her mother popping up on her like the worlds worst jack in the box, Simon could hardly blame her.

"You snuck up on me," she said resigned. Resigned to what, Simon wasn't sure. And then Clary sighed. "I guess I'm not much of a Shadowhunter, huh?"

Simon smiled. "Well," he shrugged, "in your defense, I do move with a silent, pantherlike grace."

The corner of Clary's lips ticked upward and Simon felt the slightest surge of victory. After all she had been through, if he could get her to smile . . . well, he would take it. Pushing herself into a sitting position, Clary wiped her hands off on her pants. "Go ahead and join me," she said, indicating the spot next to her. "This mope-fest is open to all."

He sat and looked out over the city. It was weird that they called it a city. It wasn't. Not really, anyway. More like a quaint town. But then, most Shadowhunters were so full of themselves, that Simon would probably have been more surprised if they had called it anything _but_ a city. Regardless of what they called it, however, it was still beautiful. And from up here, where you could really see all of it? He let out a low whistle. "Nice view."

"It is," Clary conceded, and Simon could feel her eyes on him. "How did you find me?"

At the question, he couldn't help but to smile. He really should have thought to look here first. "Well, it took me a few hours," he admitted ruefully. "Then I remembered how when we used to fight, back in first grade, you'd go and sulk on my roof and my mom would have to get you down?"

Clary's brows furrowed. "So?"

"I know you," he said simply, tugging at a few pieces of grass himself. "When you get upset, you head for high ground." And then, remembering her jacket, he pulled it out and handed it to her. Luke had given it to him before he had left.

Clary stared at it like she wasn't sure what it was. But then, slowly, she took it from him and slipped it on. "Thanks, Simon." Leaning forward, she laced her fingers around her legs and sat her chin on her knee in a way Simon hadn't seen her do since sixth grade. It made him sad in a way he couldn't quite understand. "Did my mom send you up here to get me?"

Simon shook his head. "Luke, actually." He left out that Luke didn't think the mention of Jocelyn would get Clary to come back any time sooner. "And he just asked me to tell you that you might want to head back before sunset. Some pretty important stuff is happening."

"What kind of stuff?"

And Simon sighed, remembering the conversation back at Amatis' house. "Luke gave the Clave until sunset to decide whether they'd agree to give Downworlders seats on the Council. The Downworlders are all coming to the North Gate at twilight. If the Clave agrees, they can come into Alicante. If not . . ."

"They get sent away." Clary sighed, finishing his sentence. "And the Clave gives itself up to Valentine."

Simon nodded. "Yeah."

"They'll agree," Clary said, looking back out over the city as she hugged her knees against her chest. "They have to. They'd never pick Valentine. No one would."

 _Your mom did._ Simon squashed the thought quickly. It was unfair and it was a long time ago. But it didn't make it any less true. And from what he had learned over the last month, there had been quite a few that had chosen Valentine at one point. So why would it be any different now? But out loud, all he said was, "Glad to see your idealism hasn't been damaged." He even managed to keep his tone light, for her sake.

But Clary only stared at him like she was trying to figure something out. He felt like an ant under a microscope. At least it wasn't a magnifying glass. Finally she turned to stare back out over the city. She seemed to be focusing on the demon towers that had been restored.

"Simon?" she said after a while. "I have a stupid question."

"What is it?"

"Did you sleep with Isabelle." And Simon nearly choked. Concerned, Clary turned to look at him, but he didn't return her gaze. When she had said she had a question, he had thought it would be about her mother, or Luke, or hell . . . even Jace. But about Izzy? And him? And . . . sex? Oh for the love of— "Are you okay?" Clary asked.

"I think so," he said, incredibly grateful that his blushing days were over. And then he looked at her. "Are you serious?"

"Well, you _were_ gone all night."

That's true. He was. And Clary was his best friend—the one he used to tell everything to. But then, she used to tell him everything, too. When had things gotten so complicate? He didn't want them to be complicated. He only ever wanted them to be Simon and Clary. But as for Isabelle . . . well, he didn't want to betray _her_ trust either. Simon took a breath. "Not sure that it's your business, but no." He would say no more than that. Watching Izzy cry had been hard. He didn't know she was capable of it. Holding her while she cried had been even harder.

"Well," Clary said after some thought. "I guess you wouldn't have taken advantage of her when she's so grief stricken and all."

And Simon couldn't help but to think of last night. How he had tried very hard to be sensitive to Isabelle's needs, to be there for her, to listen, to be a friend . . . and how she had grabbed him and pulled him roughly on top of her. He wouldn't say it was against his will . . . but it had definitely not been _her_ who had been taken advantage of, either. Simon let out a snort. "If you ever meet the man who could take advantage of Isabelle, you'll have to let me know. I'd like to shake his hand. Or run away from him very fast, I'm not sure which."

"So you're not dating Isabelle?"

Simon's brows furrowed. What was this about? He knew Clary better than to think she was jealous of Izzy, but he couldn't figure out what was with the line of questioning, either. He shook his head. "Clary, why are you asking me about Isabelle?" He also knew that he was answering a question with a question—something that usually annoyed her. But he didn't know what him and Isabelle were, so he couldn't answer it anyway. "Don't you want to talk about your mom? Or about Jace? Izzy told me he left." That was partially true at least. She did tell him. But he had also overheard them talking in the kitchen. But telling her that he was told sounded much better than telling her that he was eavesdropping against his will, however. "I know how you must be feeling."

"No," Clary sighed, tugging at her curls. "No, I don't think you do."

 _Really? You don't think I know?_ Reaching forward, he stayed her hand from her nervous tick. "You're not the only person who's ever felt abandoned," he said more clipped than he meant to. And then he sighed. "I guess I just thought—I mean, I've never seen you so angry. And at your mom." That was an understatement. He had known Clary to be pissed at her mom before. Several times. But it was _nothing_ compared to back there in that kitchen. The look on Jocelyn's face . . . "I thought you missed her."

"Of course I missed her!" Clary said insistently, though Simon wasn't sure if she was trying to convince him, or herself. "It's just that—" Clary stalled and shook her head before meeting his eyes. "I've been so focused on reaching her—saving her from Valentine, then figuring out a way to cure her—that I never even stopped to think about how angry I was that she lied to me all these years. That she kept all of this from me, kept the truth from me. Never let me know who I really was."

"But that's not what you said when she walked into the room," Simon said gently. "You said, 'Why didn't you ever tell me I had a brother?'"

Clary swallowed hard, yanking out another clump of grass from the ground. Simon could hear her heart pounding rapidly now. "I know," she said finally. "I guess I cant help thinking that if I'd known the truth, I wouldn't have met Jace the way I did. I wouldn't have fallen in love with him."

Simon stilled at her words. If his heart worked properly, it might have even done that thing where it felt like it was flipping or plummeting or something. He, and many others, had known how Jace felt. He wasn't exactly all that great at hiding it. But Clary was harder to read. Even for Simon at times. He had told her once that she shouldn't deny her feelings over something she had no control over . . . but even then . . .

"I don't think I've ever heard you say that before," he said slowly.

Clary looked up at him, the setting sun behind her creating a halo of fire around her head. "That I love him?" And then she laughed, but Simon knew it wasn't a real laugh. It was one filled with enough sorrow to break even the strongest man's heart. "Seems useless to pretend like I don't at this point. Maybe it doesn't matter. I probably won't ever see him again, anyway."

"He'll come back," Simon smiled reassuringly.

"Maybe."

Maybe nothing. Simon knew Jace. Maybe not as well as Isabelle or Alec, but when it came to how he felt about Clary and what lengths he would go for her—he _knew_ Jace. That boy would burn down the world for her if she asked of it. It was like that movie, _Say Anything._ Granted, those characters didn't have the problem of being siblings. Or Shadowhunters. And they were racing against a trip to England, not against a psychopath set on destroying the world. Okay so maybe it was nothing like that movie, but all the same, Simon was sure that it was only a matter of time before Jace showed up at Clary's window with a boombox blasting, _In Your Eyes._ If Shadowhunters even had boomboxes.

"He'll come back," Simon said again, with such conviction that he saw a flicker of hope flash behind her eyes. "For you."

But then she was shaking her head, looking back out at the city. "I don't know," she sighed. But before he could respond, her eyes widened and then narrowed, her heart skipping a beat. "Simon, look."

And he did. Following her gaze, he saw the North Gate was swarmed with Downworlders. Most of them were huddled together. Simon could make out the werewolves and the warlocks. Farther away were the fey. There were so many. Simon had not realized just what kind of reach Luke had. "They're here," he breathed, more to himself. He couldn't believe it. And then he wondered if the vampires would show. It was no secret that they didn't like Simon, but surely they wouldn't hold that against the rest of them. "I wonder if that means the Clave's decided?"

"I hope so," said Clary as she watched the moving shadows at the gate. She ripped up another blade of grass, and Simon cut a side-long glance at her. At this rate, he might as well just find her a lawnmower. Or a goat. "I don't know what I'll do if they decide to give into Valentine," she continued quietly. "Maybe I can create a Portal that'll take us all away to somewhere Valentine will never find us. A deserted island, or something."

Wasn't that what Jocelyn had tried doing with Clary? Not that Simon would ever be stupid enough to say that out loud. _Nope._ You couldn't even _pay_ him to say that. But maybe instead of hiding them all away they could do something to get rid of his stupid demon army. In fact . . . "Okay, I have a stupid question myself," he said suddenly, turning to look at her. "You can create new runes, right? Why can't you just create one to destroy every demon in the world? Or kill Valentine?"

But Clary was already shaking her head before he finished. "It doesn't work like that," she said. "I can only create runes I can visualize. The whole image has to come into my head, like a picture. When I try to visualize 'kill Valentine' or 'rule the world' or something, I don't get any images. Just white noise."

Huh. Well. While Simon didn't have much to say on the idea of ruling the world, he could definitely visualize killing Valentine. And in such vivid detail that on some level he knew that he should be shocked or sickened by it—and yet he wasn't. He rubbed at his wrist where he knew a thin silver scar sat. "But where do the images of the runes come from, do you think?"

"I don't know," Clary shrugged. "All the runes the Shadowhunters know come from the Gray Book. That's why they can only be put on Nephilim; that's what they're for. But there are other, older runes. Magnus told me that. Like the Mark of Cain. It was a protection Mark, but not one from the Gray Book. So when I think of these runes, like the Fearless rune, I don't know if it's something I'm inventing or something I'm remembering—runes older than Shadowhunters. Runes as old as angels themselves." And then she frowned, her eyes glazing over as they sometimes did when she was lost in a memory. A shiver brought her back.

"Are you cold?"

Clary nodded. "Yes—aren't you?"

Smiling, Simon put an arm around her and pulled her against him. "I don't get cold anymore," he said, rubbing at her back in hopes of helping her warm up—as much as a dead guy could warm anyone up. And then he chuckled despite himself. "I guess this probably doesn't help much, what with me having no body heat at all."

"No," she said, and Simon grinned. "I mean—yes," Clary amended quickly. "It does help. Stay like that."

He would stay as long as she needed him. Rubbing circles on her back, Simon turned his attention back to the North Gate. How long would they wait, he wondered. If it were him, how long would _he_ wait? But then . . . he knew the answer to that. He would be wherever his best friend was. Always. Even if that meant looking death in the face. Again. He just knew he wouldn't come back from it this time.

"Are you hungry?" Clary asked suddenly, catching him off guard.

Simon looked down at her, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Afraid I'm going to bite you?"

But Clary only rolled her eyes. "You know you're welcome to my blood whenever you want it."

Now it was Simon's turn to shiver. The idea of drinking Clary's blood—the idea of sticking his teeth in her—he swallowed as his fangs snapped out. He quickly hid them away, shaking his head. "I'd never do that," he said heavily, his eyes hard. And then he forced a smile. "Besides, I've already drunk Jace's blood—I've had enough of feeding off my friends."

Clary frowned at his words. "Do you think that's why . . .?"

"Why what?"

"Why sunlight doesn't hurt you. I mean, it did hurt you before that, didn't it? Before that night on the boat?"

Simon nodded slowly. It wasn't something he particularly enjoyed remembering. And it wasn't so much that he was remembering it now, as he was being hurdled ass over teakettle to that night. He remembered lying broken and drained on the floor of the ship and Jace trying to force him to drink his blood. Trying so hard to save him even though neither of them liked the other. Simon hadn't wanted to drink his blood at first. And then it was all that he wanted. It was like something came over him. He had pinned Jace below him, straddling him, and—Simon swallowed. He remembered how ridiculously good Jace's blood had been. Which was a weird enough thought and not something he would ever admit to. But it was definitely nothing like Sebastian's blood, which had been foul and tainted.

"So what else changed?" Clary asked, pulling him from the memory. "Or was it just that you drank his blood."

"You mean because he's Nephilim? Yes, but not just because of that." And then Simon sighed when he saw her look of confusion. "You and Jace—you're not quite normal, are you? I mean, not normal Shadowhunters. Whatever makes you different, it's what makes me different as well. There's something special about you both. Like the Seelie Queen said. You were experiments." And Clary's mouth popped open, shock marring her features. Had she really thought he hadn't noticed or been paying attention? He smiled at her surprise. "I'm not stupid," he said. "I can put these things together. You with your rune powers, and Jace, well . . . no one could be that annoying without some kind of supernatural assistance." He had meant it as a joke, but the sadness in Clary's eyes made him regret saying it.

"Do you really dislike him that much?"

"I don't dislike Jace," Simon sighed. "I mean, I hated him at first, sure. He seemed so arrogant and sure of himself, and you acted like he hung the moon—"

"I did not," Clary protested. But Simon could only think about that picture where Amatis was looking at that Stephen guy in the same way he had seen Clary look at Jace. Amatis had said he was her ex-husband but it was clear that she had never gotten over him. The idea that Clary might face the same thing worried him. And it was clear to him now that Jace was hurting just as much. No, he did not hate Jace, and he did not want her thinking otherwise. Not now—not with so much going on. He took an unnecessary breath.

"Let me finish, Clary," Simon said, knowing that if his heart could pound it would be doing so now. "I could tell how much you liked him, and I thought he was using you, that you were just some stupid mundane girl he could impress with his Shadowhunter tricks. First I told myself that you'd never fall for it, and then that even if you did, he'd get tired of you eventually and you'd come back to me." He pushed his hair back, looking down at her wide green eyes. "I'm not proud of that," he said quietly. "But when you're desperate, you'll believe anything, I guess. And then when he turned out to be your brother, it seemed like a last minute reprieve—and I was glad. I was even glad to see how much he seemed to be suffering, until that night in the Seelie Court when you kissed him. I could see . . ."

"See what?" Clary's voice trembled.

"The way he looked at you." Simon swallowed hard as he remembered the look on Jace's face that night as he pulled Clary into his arms. It was like a thunderstorm looking at the sun. All it wanted was the warmth of its embrace . . . and that night . . . that was his one moment to get it before he would forever be cast back into the rain. To those there, it might have been a trick of the Seelie Queen's . . . but to Jace, it had also been a gift. Simon shook his head. "I got it then," he said sadly. "He was never using you. He loved you, and it was killing him."

"Is that why you went to Dumort?" Clary breathed miserably.

"Because of you and Jace?" Simon asked surprised. "Not in any real way, no. Ever since that night in the hotel, I'd been wanting to go back. I dreamed about it. And I'd wake up out of bed, getting dressed, or already on the street, and I knew I wanted to of back to the hotel. It was always worse at night, and worse the closer I got to the hotel. It didn't even occur to me that it was something supernatural—I thought it was posttraumatic stress or something. That night, I was so exhausted and angry, and we were so close to the hotel, and it was night—" _a recipe for disaster,_ "—I barely even remember what happened. I just remember walking away from the park, and then—nothing."

"But if you hadn't been angry at me," Clary insisted. "If we hadn't upset you—"

"It's not like you had a choice," Simon said pointedly. "And it's not like I didn't know. You can only push the truth down for so long, and then it bubbles back up. The mistake I made was not telling you what was going on with me, not telling you about the dreams." And then he smiled, pulling Clary tighter against him. "But I don't regret dating you. I'm glad we tried. And I love you for trying, even if it was never going to work."

"I wanted it to work so much," Clary breathed remorsefully. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"I wouldn't change it," he said truthfully. "I wouldn't give up loving you. Not for anything." And then he smiled, his head listing to the side. "You know what Raphael told me? That I didn't know how to be a good vampire, that vampires accept that they're dead. But as long as I remember what it was like to love you, I'll always feel like I'm alive."

"Simon—"

"Look." He hadn't meant to cut her off so abruptly, or to stop their little heart to heart, but he had just caught sight of the Downworlders moving with the tenacity of worker bees. "Down there." The sun had set, its deep red and gold sliver winking out of existence. Twilight. And yet the gates remained closed. Even from where Simon sat, he could tell the Downworlders were becoming agitated and restless—probably thinking what a waste of time this had all been.

"What's going on?" Clary asked, confused. But it was clear to Simon. "The sun's set; why aren't the gates opening?"

"The Clave," Simon said, his body rigid with tension. "They must have said no to Luke."

"They cant have!" Clary said sharply. "That would mean—"

"They're going to give themselves up to Valentine." He felt numb.

"They _can't!"_ Clary cried out hysterically, and Simon looked at the girl he would proudly die with, though he had hoped it wouldn't come to that. She was staring down at the North Gate, her fists balled in her lap.

"I guess they really hate us that much," he said slowly, following her gaze. The Downworlders were beginning to leave. "They'd really rather choose Valentine." He had wondered, sure, but he realized now that he hadn't actually thought they'd do it.

"It's not hate," Clary disagreed vehemently, though Simon knew it wasn't directed at him. "It's that they're afraid. Even Valentine was afraid. Afraid and jealous."

At that, Simon cocked a disbelieving brow. "Jealous?" But Clary didn't answer. She was staring vacantly at the city below; at the Downworlders who were streaming away from the city. She was lost in her thoughts again. "Clary." Simon said again. He was used to her doing this, but now was probably the worst time to take a trip down memory lane. He waved a hand in front of her unseeing eyes. "Earth to Clary!"

"Binding." She nearly shouted without warning, causing Simon to jump and stare at her incredulously. But she didn't see him. "It's a binding rune. It joins like and unlike."

What was she on about? Binding rune? Like . . . bondage? That could _not_ be what she was just thinking about. "What?" Simon chose to ask instead.

But Clary was already scrambling to her feet in her fevered panic. "I have to get down there," she said urgently. "Where are they?"

"Where are who? Clary—"

"The Clave." Clary said quickly, and she was looking at him like he was nuts. He wasn't the one that had randomly yelled out _'binding'_ however, lest she forget. "Where are they meeting?" she continued rapidly, "Where's Luke?"

Getting to his feet, Simon stared down the hill. He wasn't sure what this was about, but he knew when he was going to need to move his ass. "The Accords Hall. Clary—" And she was gone. Simon watched as she darted toward the winding path that led down to the city. "Well . . . shit."

With one last look at the North Gate, he took off after her.

.

.

 _"This is ridiculous."_

 _"Why won't they listen?"_

 _"Because they're scared."_

 _"Scared my ass, they're cowards."_

 _"Isabelle."_

Alec closed his eyes. He wished Jace was here. He had found his note this afternoon, and while he wished he could say he was surprised . . . he wasn't. Jace wasn't one to stick around and do nothing. And he definitely wasn't one to put someone in danger if he could avoid it. Which was why he had not brought Alec with him. Or so his note said.

They were standing in the Accords Hall, and had been arguing with each other for most of the day. The deadline had been twilight. Well, twilight had come. The answer was no. They would not join with the Downworlders. They would not give them seats on the Council. Because they were too proud to admit they needed help; they were too full of themselves to consider themselves equals. Alec peeked an eye up at Magnus. He was watching the sea of Shadowhunters without even the hint of expression, but Alec knew he had to be upset. Rubbing his temples, he turned to his mother and sister who were still arguing the use of 'ass' and 'cowards' when referring to Shadowhunters. Alec agreed with his sister.

"So what are we going to do?" He asked.

"You heard Malachi," Maryse said bitterly, glaring across the room at the Consul. "We're refusing help."

"Yeah, but what are _we_ going to do?" He asked again with emphasis. And he felt Magnus's eyes on him. "I don't know about you, but I'm not laying down for Valentine. Not with Jace out there. Not with lives at stake. If his own children refuse to join him, then why would anyone else?"

"Because they're scared," Maryse repeated for what must have been the hundredth time. And then she turned on her daughter, who had just opened her mouth to speak. "Save it Isabelle. What's done is done."

But Isabelle wasn't looking at her mother; she was looking past her. "Simon!" she called out, and Alec turned to follow her gaze. The vampire was indeed here and making his way toward them. He was in a black Shadowhunter jacket and jeans. His hair was windblown as if he had been running, but he didn't look out of breath. Stopping next to Izzy, Simon nodded at everyone just as Isabelle spoke. "The Clave are being _idiots,_ " she said loudly enough to turn a few heads. "They said—"

"No," the vampire finished. "I know. Clary and I saw them leaving the North Gates."

"They can't!" Isabelle cried out in frustration. And then she took Simon's hand. "You're not leaving, are you?"

Simon shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere."

Alec watched them before cutting a side-long glance at Magnus. He wished he were as brave as Isabelle. Their mother was standing right there, and his sister was blatantly flirting with a vampire. Why couldn't it be that easy for him? Why couldn't he just take Magnus's hand? He wanted to be with him, didn't he? And yet . . . taking a breath, his heart pounding, he flexed his fingers out toward the warlock standing next to him.

"What is Clarissa doing?" Magnus said suddenly, turning away from Alec. Alec coughed awkwardly and crossed his arms before looking to see what Magnus was talking about. Clary was standing on the dais, meeting the gazes of the Shadowhunters who were slowly noticing her with the same defiance he usually saw in Jace.

"Something about binding," Simon said, his brows furrowed. Alec raised a brow, but the vampire on shrugged. "She didn't explain and I didn't ask. Hopefully it's not what it sounds like."

At that, Maryse scowled, Isabelle tried to hide a smile, and Alec could have sworn he heard Magnus say something about hoping that it was exactly what it sounded like. Alec on the other hand, had no clue what they were talking about, so he tried focusing on Clary again. She was in Shadowhunter gear and a green coat that matched her eyes. She looked both lost and found. Like this was exactly where she wanted to be, while wanting to be somewhere else completely. It was like she wasn't . . . whole. Alec could relate to that.

And then Malachi was there, trying to shout above the crowd in his attempt to get to Clary. He was gesturing wildly, and he did not look the least bit happy to see her there. Good. Seeing him, Clary whirled on the crowed.

"You're right," she said suddenly, her voice carrying to the back of the room. "I _am_ Valentine's daughter. I never even knew he was my father until a few weeks ago. I never even knew he _existed_ until a few weeks ago. I know a lot of you are going to believe that's not true, and that's fine. Believe what you want. Just as long as you also believe I know things about Valentine that you don't know, things that could help you win this battle against him— _if only you let me tell you what they are."_

"Ridiculous!" Malachi boomed, finally reaching the steps of the dais. He sounded angry and out of breath. "This is ridiculous. You're just a little girl—"

"She's Jocelyn Fairchild's daughter," Patrick called out loudly as he, too, pushed himself to the front of the crowd. Jia and Aline weren't far back. "Let her say her piece, Malachi."

At hearing his name, Clary's eyes narrowed on the Consul. Alec had seen that glare before. "You," she said, her tone dripping with accusation. "You and the Inquisitor threw my friend Simon into prison—"

"Your friend the vampire?" Malachi scoffed coldly. But Clary was unfazed, her eyes emerald infernos. Alec was sure that if he was closer, he might actually feel the heat the must have been radiating.

"He told me you asked him what happened to Valentine's ship that night on the East River. You thought Valentine must have done something, some kind of black magic. Well, he didn't. If you want to know what destroyed that ship, the answer is me. _I_ did it."

And Malachi laughed cruelly. A laughter that was echoed by very few. Alec swallowed hard. He was suddenly very glad that Jace _wasn't_ here after all. He'd be having a shit fit. Looking around, he saw Luke. The pack leader was leaning against a wall with his arms crossed. He looked horrified, his eyes wide and his head shaking slowly, but he didn't move to stop Clary from speaking.

"I did it with a rune," Clary pressed on over those who were speaking in hushed tones. "It was a rune so strong it made the ship come apart in pieces. I can create new runes. Not just the ones in the Gray Book. Runes no one's ever seen before—powerful ones—"

"That's enough," Malachi rounded on her, his face flushed with fury.

Next to Alec, Isabelle took a shuddering breath. "Why won't he listen to her?" she whispered. "We know she's telling the truth." But Alec only shook his head, trying to listen to what was going on as he thought of the Fearless rune she had once placed on him.

"This is ridiculous," the Consul repeated, gesturing toward Clary. "No one can create new runes. It's a complete impossibility." And then he turned to the crowd. "Like her father, this girl is nothing but a liar."

 _Like her father?_ Alec had heard that so many times from Jace—how much he was like Valentine. _Like father like son_ and all that bullshit. His _parabatai_ was _nothing_ like Valentine. And neither was Clary. "She's not lying." Alec called out then, his voice loud in the quiet room as he stared down the Consul. He was only vaguely aware of Isabelle turning to look at him in surprise and the sharp intake of breath from his mother behind him. But he ignored it as he took a step forward, stopping next to Magnus. "I've seen her create a rune," he pressed on, crossing his arms. "She even used it on me." And then, unable to stop himself, he cut a sidelong glance at Magnus. "It worked."

But Malachi was shaking his head. "You're lying," he insisted, though Alec noticed he didn't sound nearly as confident now. "To protect your friend—"

"Really, Malachi," Maryse cut in sharply, coming to her son's defense. Alec had to suppress a smile. Why would my son lie about something like this, when the truth can so easily be discovered? Give the girl a stele and let her create a rune."

The hall erupted in whispers, many of them agreeing with Maryse. Jogging lightly up the steps of the dais, Patrick handed Clary his stele and gave her a reassuring smile. Clary nodded back nervously. And then she stood there, looking at them all. But she did nothing.

"Come on, Clary," Simon whispered, and Alec turned to look at the vampire. He was watching his friend with such an abundant amount of love and confidence. "You got this."

Focusing his gaze back on Clary, he saw her nod as though she had heard her friend, and pressed the tip of the stele to her arm. And she drew. From where he stood, Alec could see the intricate black lines that were spreading across her skin and . . .

And . . .

Alec blinked, his heart jack hammering. Magnus was standing on the dais. But that couldn't be—he was still standing next to him. There were two of them! Alec's head was shooting back and forth between the warlock on the dais and the warlock standing next to him as adrenaline coursed through his veins. What had Clary done? _How_ had she done it? Was everyone else seeing the two warlocks? The Magnus on the dais merely watched without expression as everyone stared at him. The Magnus that stood next to Alec only looked on amused. How was he not freaking out as seeing himself?

"Clever girl," the Magnus next to him mused, his cat like eyes shining. "Showing everyone the person they love most."

Showing everyone the person they love most? Alec looked back to the Magnus that was standing on the dais; his stomach twisting as he saw that the cat-like eyes up there were watching him now. He could feel the shock and disbelief on his face. _The person they love most . . ._

Oh.

He looked back at the Magnus next to him.

 _Oh . . ._

Alec was suddenly very hyper aware of the Magnus standing next to him.

"Stephen!" The cry from Amatis distracted Alec, and he saw Luke's sister rushing toward the dais. _"Stephen!"_

"Oh," the Magnus on the dais shook his head sadly. "Oh, Amatis, no." But then he wasn't Magnus anymore. It was Clary again. And Luke's sister stopped, staring at Clary in wonder and sorrow. Slowly, she stepped off the dais and disappeared back into the crowd.

Looking out over the crowd, Clary met the eyes of those who were watching her in amazement. She took a breath. "I know what you all just saw," she said. "And I know that you know that that kind of magic is beyond any glamour or illusion. And I did that with one rune, a single rune, a rune _that I created._ There are reasons why I have this ability, and I know you might not like them or even believe them, but it doesn't matter. What matters is that I can help you win this battle against Valentine, if you let me."

"There will be no battle against Valentine," Malachi said shakily but firmly. It was clear that her rune had caused him some sort of distress. Alec wondered who he had seen. "The Clave has decided. We will agree to Valentine's terms and lay down our arms tomorrow morning."

"You can't do that!" Clary cried out in desperation. "You think everything will be all right if you just give up? You think Valentine will let you keep living like you have already? You think he'll confine his killing to demons and Downworlders?" She glared furiously across the room, meeting gaze after gaze. "Most of you haven't seen Valentine in fifteen years. Maybe you've forgotten what he's really like. But I know. I've heard him talk about his plans. You think you can still live your lives under Valentine's rule, but you won't be able to. He'll control you completely, because he'll always be able to threaten to destroy you with the Mortal Instruments." Clary shook her head, her green eyes pleading. "He'll start with Downworlders, of course. But then he'll go to the Clave. He'll kill them first because he thinks they're weak and corrupt. Then he'll start in on anyone who has a Downworlder anywhere in their family. Maybe a werewolf brother—" her eyes swept toward where Amatis had disappeared, "—or a rebellious teenage daughter who dates the occasional faerie knight—" her eyes landed on Isabelle, and Alec felt his stomach drop, "—or anyone who's ever so much as befriended a Downworlder." Alec met Clary's eyes, her unsaid words clear. _Or anyone who has ever loved a Downworlder._ "And then he'll go after anyone who's ever employed the services of a warlock." She continued, breaking away from Alec's gaze. "How many of you would that be?"

"A lot," Magnus retorted under his breath.

But Alec said nothing. His fist were balled tightly in his crossed arms, his body rigid. They had already lost Max. He would die protecting the rest of his family before he let anyone else hurt them. He would die protecting Magnus. And judging by the nods and murmurs of those around him, many other Shadowhunters seemed to be thinking along the same lines. Malachi looked like he might explode.

"This is nonsense," the Consul said, his tone as sharp as an arctic knife. "Valentine is not interested in destroying Nephilim."

"But he doesn't think anyone who associates with Downworlders is worthy of being called Nephilim," Clary countered. And then she sighed. "Look, your war isn't against Valentine. It's against demons. Keeping demons from this world is your mandate, a mandate from heaven. And a mandate from heaven isn't something you can just _ignore_. Downworlders hate demons too. They destroy them too. If Valentine has his way, he'll spend so much of his time trying to murder every Downworlder, and every Shadowhunter who's ever associated with them, that he'll forget all about the demons, and so will you, because you'll be so busy being afraid of Valentine. And they'll overrun the world and that will be that."

Malachi glared at red headed spitfire that Alec had once hated. Right now he couldn't be more proud of her—a sentiment the Consul definitely did not share. "I can see where this is going," he said through his teeth, his head shaking in a sharp jerky motion. "We will _not_ fight beside Downworlders in the service of a battle we can't possibly win."

"But you _can_ win it." Clary insisted. "You can." And then her eyes swept over the crowd. "My father hates Downworlders because he's jealous of them—jealous and afraid of all the things they can do that he can't. He hates that in some ways they're more powerful than Nephilim, and I'd bet he's not alone in that. It's easy to be afraid of what you don't share." She paused, taking a breath. "But what if you _could_ share it? What if I could make a rune that could bind each of you, each Shadowhunter, to a Downworlder who was fighting by your side, and you could share your powers—you could be as fast healing as a vampire, as tough as a werewolf, or as swift as a faerie knight. And they, in turn, could share your training, your fighting skill. You could be an unbeatable force—if you'll let me Mark you, and if you'll fight with the Downworlders. Because if you don't fight beside them, the runes won't work."

Alec took a breath as Clary looked out beseechingly into the crowd. And he found himself pleading silently with her. This could work. They could do this. And they could win. If they would only get their heads out of their asses long enough to realize it.

 _"Please,"_ Clary let out a shuddering breath. "Please, let me Mark you."

The silence was deafening.

Jace would be proud of her.

* * *

 _ **Please Review!  
**_


	17. Hidden Truths and Unspoken Lies

_**AN:** I want to apologize for how long this took. I wish I had a great excuse as to the reason but, alas it was just that I didn't want to write this chapter. I mean, I did, but I didn't. I could have chosen to write from Alec's POV inside the Accords Hall, or Izzy's or Magnus's. I could have completely skipped Jocelyn's story like I did Luke's in CotU. It'd probably have been easier. But I decided early on that this was an important chapter that could not be skipped. The problem was, how to do it. And so I put it off. And then I put it off longer. But I knew I couldn't put it off forever. I wrote this over several months, deleting and rewriting. Trying to get it right. I can't promise that I managed to actually do that, but I hope you all like it anyway. Now I can get back to POV's I'm actually comfortable in!  
_

* * *

 **~Chapter Sixteen~  
Hidden Truths and Unspoken Lies  
**

Jocelyn took a breath as Luke finally turned around to look at where she stood hidden in the shadows of one of the pillars. He had known she was there, though he had asked her not to come. When she had first made her presence known, he had shaken his head. He hadn't been mad—not really—merely resigned. But he had also not moved from the wall after that, blocking her from the view of other Shadowhunters the entire time Clary had been speaking on the dais. But Jocelyn had seen. She had heard. And her heart had both shattered and swelled with pride for the woman she had missed her daughter becoming while she had been unconscious. This was not what she had wanted for Clary, but there was no denying now that it was what Clary wanted for herself.

It wasn't until after her speech, that Luke had finally moved. But he only went far enough to catch Clary's attention and send her outside while the Clave deliberated the new option she had given them. He had wanted Amatis to go with her, but Simon had opted to go instead. Jocelyn had been grateful for Luke's decision to have her wait elsewhere, because the moment the doors of the Hall had shut, the Consul had immediately insulted her daughter. It had taken a calming hand from Luke to keep Jocelyn from springing from the shadows to whack the Consul upside his head. But it hadn't just been Malachi. Others seemed to share his sentiment. Though admittedly, many more seemed to take her daughter's side.

Meeting Luke's grey eyes now, she frowned. "I've missed a lot in such short time. She's become so . . . strong."

Luke nodded, crossing his arms. "Like her mother," he said flatly.

And Jocelyn grimaced at Luke's posture. He was still mad at her. Their talk earlier . . . it was clear he still hadn't forgiven her. Swallowing, she shook her head and stared at the door where her daughter had disappeared. "She's stronger than me." Jocelyn said sadly. "And she can create runes now? How can—" She cut off her own question. She didn't need to ask how. She already knew. Just like she knew how Jonathan had been turned into a monster. Valentine. Instead she switched tracks. "There's still so much she doesn't understand, Luke. The danger—"

"I think she _does_ understand it, Jocelyn." Luke cut her off harshly, making her flinch at his tone. Seeing it, he rubbed hard at his temples. "Sorry," he said brusquely.

Jocelyn said nothing. What could she say? She hadn't been there when Clary had learned about the shadow world, and now her daughter's words from earlier were haunting her. Exactly what _had_ she expected to happen once she disappeared? Jocelyn had left her daughter unprepared. She had been arrogant enough to think she wouldn't be found—just as arrogant as she had been back when she had been stupidly in love with Valentine and the promises he held for the Circle. Taking a steadying breath, she met Luke's eyes once more.

"Luke, I—"

"She needs to know," Luke cut her off again, gentler this time. "You need to tell her."

Jocelyn nodded. "I know."

.

Pushing the heavy wooden door open, Jocelyn stepped out into the cool night air. Clary was sitting on the steps and Simon was . . . Jocelyn blinked and turned to look up at one of the pillars, a smile playing on her lips. Simon was clinging to the top of the smooth pillar. Just as she had noticed back at Amatis's house, her daughters best friend was definitely different. But the way he was looking down at her now . . . was just so incredibly Simon. It took everything she had to keep from laughing.

"Well, hello, Simon" she called up to him, the amusement still clear on her face. "Glad to see you're . . . adjusting." She wasn't sure if that was quite the right word, but it was a word Luke had used long ago to express how he was coping with his own transformation, so she assumed it would do.

Letting go of the pillar, Simon landed gracefully—like a cat that would always land on its feet—and a spear of pain lanced through Jocelyn's heart. No matter how much he was still Simon . . . he wasn't anymore. "Hey Mrs. Fray," he said, looking slightly embarrassed as he rubbed at the back of his head. And Jocelyn tried to remember if there had ever been a time that she had seen a vampire embarrassed. She didn't think so.

Shaking her head, she smiled. "I don't know if there's any point in calling me that now," she said sadly. "Maybe you should just call me Jocelyn."

Nodding, Simon looked at Clary, who had not moved from her spot on the steps . . .

 _"Are you ready, Clary? We have to get to school now."_

 _The little mundane boy, Simon, had shown up at their door that morning asking Jocelyn if he could walk her daughter to school. And now he was pushing his glasses up on his face as he looked up at Clary, who was standing on the steps holding her moms hand. Clary's bright green eyes sparkled at the boy as she let go of her mom and bounced down the stairs, her lunch pail slapping her thigh as she went. She stood there for just a moment, staring at the little boy before holding out her hand._

 _"You have to hold my hand, Simon."_

 _Slipping his hand into Clary's he turned a toothy grin up at Jocelyn. "I'll always keep her safe, Mrs. Fray."_

The memory slipped away, and she was left looking at Simon now. The boy who had stayed with her daughter when she couldn't. The boy who had somehow gotten just as wrapped up in the shadow world as Clary had. _I'll always keep her safe, Mrs. Fray._ They had been inseparable ever since. "You know," Jocelyn said suddenly, catching Simon's attention. "Strange as this—situation—is, it's good to see you here with Clary. I can't remember the last time you two were apart."

Now Simon was definitely embarrassed. If he could have blushed, he probably would have. "It's good to see you, too."

Jocelyn smiled. "Thank you." Taking a breath, she turned her attention fully to her daughter. "Now, Clary, would it be all right for us to talk for a moment? Alone?"

It was a long time before her daughter spoke. So long that Jocelyn was starting to worry that Clary was going to tell her to go away. But in the end she only sighed as if she were exhausted and nodded. "Okay."

Taking a breath, Jocelyn's heart spiked at the word, and she gave a half-hearted wave to Simon as he went back inside, giving them the alone time she asked for. Turning to look back at her daughter, she saw Clary watching the guards that were moving silently along Angel Square. She was being very careful not to look at her mother, it seemed. Drawing back her shoulders, Jocelyn took a seat next to her daughter. She wanted to wrap her arms around Clary. To pull her in and whisper that it would be okay. That this was just a nightmare. That it would all be over soon. Just like she used to do when Clary was younger. But she did none of that. She was sure it was the last thing Clary would want. Plus, she had lied enough. There was no telling when this would all be over, and it was far from okay. It was Valentine, after all.

"Clary," Jocelyn said after a while, her soft voice cutting through the night like a knife. Next to her, her daughter froze, and Jocelyn looked at her. She was still intently staring out at the Square. Her red curls were blowing softly across her face and the green coat she wore did nothing to hide the gear she wore under it. She looked so much older. She was older, Jocelyn thought suddenly, realizing that she had missed her sixteenth birthday. "I am so sorry," she breathed miserably. Her heart was pounding as she watched her daughter stare down at the stele she held. It was the one that Patrick had given her. But still Clary said nothing. She only twisted the sculpted Adamas in her small hands. Blinking back tears, Jocelyn stared out at the Square. There were a lot of good memories here. But even more bad ones. When her eyes fell on the demon towers, she let out a shaky breath. "I never thought I'd see this place again. I dreamed about it sometimes. I even wanted to paint it, to paint my memories of it, but I couldn't do that. I thought if you ever saw the paintings, you might ask questions, might wonder how those images had ever come into my head. I was so frightened you'd find out where I was really from. Who I really was."

"And now I have."

Jocelyn looked at her daughter. Her words had not been angry. Or sad. Or anything, really. They had simply been a statement. But Clary was still not looking at her. Jocelyn nodded. "And now you have," she said regretfully. Dropping her hands in her lap, she stared at them. They were long and slender. Painters hands. Or a pianist, maybe. Though Jocelyn had never been all that great with musical instruments. Clary had Jocelyn's hands. "And you have every right to hate me."

"I don't hate you, Mom," Clary said with exhausted exasperation, her green eyes finally meeting Jocelyn's. "I just . . ."

"Don't trust me," Jocelyn finished for her. "I can't blame you. I should have told you the truth." Reaching out tentatively, she gently brushed Clary's shoulder. Clary tensed under her touch, but she didn't move away or try to shrug her off. It was a start at least. "I can tell you I did it to protect you," Jocelyn went on, "but I know how that must sound." And then she stared at the stele in her daughters hands again. How strange it was to see, not just that she was holding it . . . but that she knew how to _use_ it. She shook her head at the image of her daughter standing on the dias, drawing the strange Mark into her arm. "I was there, just now, in the Hall, watching you—"

Clary's eyes flew open, shocked. "You were there? I didn't see you."

"I was in the very back of the Hall," Jocelyn smiled softly. "Luke had told me not to come to the meeting, that my presence would just upset everyone and throw everything off, and he was probably right, but I so badly wanted to be there. I slipped in after the meeting started and hid in the shadows. But I was there. And I just wanted to tell you—"

"That I made a fool of myself?" Clary cut her off irritably. "I already know that."

Made a fool out of herself? Was that honestly what she thought? Jocelyn stared at her daughter, who was now digging the stele into the marble steps, leaving a black line behind. She shook her head. "No," she said firmly. "I wanted to tell you that I was proud of you."

Clary looked up surprised. "You were?"

Smiling, Jocelyn nodded. "Of course I was. The way you stood up in front of the Clave like that. The way you showed them what you could do. You made them look at you and see the person they loved most in the world, didn't you?"

"Yeah," said Clary slowly. "How did you know?"

"Because I heard them all calling out different names," Jocelyn smiled softly as she brushed one of Clary's curls back, tucking it behind her ear. "But I still saw you."

"Oh." Even in the dim witchlight, Jocelyn could see Clary's cheeks flush. But she quickly shook it away, her red curls bouncing. "Well, I'm still not sure they believe me about the runes. I mean, I hope so, but—"

"Can I see it?" Jocelyn asked, cutting her off gently.

"See what?"

"The rune," Jocelyn said patiently. "The one that you created to bind Shadowhunters and Downworlders." She would would be lying if she said she wasn't curious. She would also be lying if she said the idea that her daughter could create runes didn't absolutely terrify her. She had hoped that she had gotten away before she could be another experiment of Valentines. When Clary didn't move, Jocelyn hesitated. "If you can't show me . . ."

Clary shook her head abruptly, as though chasing away a thought. "No, it's all right." Pressing the stele into the marble steps once more, Jocelyn watched with both shock and sadness as she traced the lines of the new rune—watched as they blazed up in molten gold. It was a complex rune, but Jocelyn could see the simplicity of it as well. It spoke of unity and working together. Of partnership. One thing was certain, however . . . it was definitely not a rune in the Grey Book. "Alliance," Clary said when she had finished. "That's what I'm calling it."

Jocelyn was speechless. Her daughter was right. It _could_ work. The rune could work. How long had Jocelyn wanted something like this? Something that would bring everyone together? "When I was a young woman," she began after a pause, "I fought so hard to bind Downworlders and Shadowhunters together, to protect the Accords. I thought I was chasing a sort of dream—something most Shadowhunters could hardly imagine. And now you've made it concrete and literal and _real."_ Squeezing her eyes shut, she could still see the golden lines of the rune tracing itself across the inside of her lids. "I realized something, watching you there in the Hall. You know, all these years I've tried to protect you by hiding you away. It's why I hated you going to Pandemonium. I knew it was a place where Downworlders and mundanes mingled—and that that meant there would be Shadowhunters there. I imagined it was something in your blood that drew you to the place, something that recognized the shadow world even without your Sight. I thought you would be safe if only I could keep that world hidden from you. I never thought about trying to protect you by helping you to be strong and to fight. But somehow you got to be strong anyway. Strong enough for me to tell you the truth, if you still want to hear it."

Clary looked up, her eyes conflicted as she twirled the stele between her fingers. "I don't know," she said finally. "I know I was angry with you for lying. But I'm not sure I want to find out anymore horrible things."

"I talked to Luke," Jocelyn said slowly, meeting her daughters eyes that were so like her own. "He thought you should know what I have to tell you. The whole story. All of it. Things I've never told anyone, never told him, even." Letting out a breath, Jocelyn looked out at the square. "I can't promise that the whole truth is pleasant. But it _is_ the truth."

It was a long time before Clary nodded. "I want to know everything."

Everything.

Easier said than done.

And Jocelyn's heart began to pound at the prospect of finally telling her daughter the truth. Everything she had tried to protect her from, to hide from her, to make her forget . . .

"Everything . . ." Taking a deep breath, Jocelyn met Clary's gaze. "I don't even know where to start."

"How about starting with how you could marry Valentine?" Clary offered, looking disgusted. "How you could have married a man like that, made him my father—he's a _monster."_

Jocelyn flinched at the word, but shook her head all the same. "No," she said carefully. "He's a man." And then she sighed. "He's not a good man. But if you want to know why I married him, it was because I loved him . . ."

.

 _"Earth to Jocelyn!" Blinking, Jocelyn looked up at the amused grey eyes watching her. Lucian grinned. "Welcome back."_

 _"Sorry," she blushed._

 _"You don't need to apologize," Valentine said, leaning back on the steps they were sitting on and drapping his arm casually around her shoulders. They had been together for a year now, and still he sent butterflies racing through her stomach at his very touch. "You are completely allowed to wander off into that perfect head of yours."_

 _Lucian threw a piece of bread at Valentine and laughed as it bounced off his head, catching him off guard. "Could you be more disgustingly sweet?" he asked as Jocelyn blushed._

 _But Valentine only smiled, his arm growing tighter around Jocelyn as he pulled her against him. "I'm sure I could," he grinned, running his free hand through his hair, giving it that untidy look that she loved._

 _"Well, feel free to spare us," Stephen said, lifting his sunglasses up to his head. "I don't think we could handle your swooning, Val." At his words, Amatis grinned. Stephen was laying with his head in her lap, and she was idly curling his golden hair around her fingers._

 _"No worries," Valentine laughed. "Besides, my words of swooning would be too much. Wouldn't want you falling deeply in love with me."_

 _"Your loss then, mate," Stephen quipped. "The history of Herondale love is legendary. There will be books written about the love of Herondale's. Girls everywhere will—"_

 _"Faint with boredom?" Lucian offered, and now it was Amatis who threw a pencil at her brother._

 _Darting his hand forward, Valentine caught it deftly out of the air before it reached its intended mark and tucked it behind his ear. "Thanks, Amatis. I'll need this later."_

 _Jocelyn laughed, burrowing into Valentine's side. "Speaking of later," she whispered into his ear. "Did you still want to meet at Lake Lyn tonight?"_

 _Turning his head slightly, Jocelyn could see the quirk of Valentine's lips. "If you are still willing."_

 _Jocelyn felt her pulse spike at his words. Of course she was still willing. He had said he needed to talk to her. That it was important. Getting to her feet, she readjusted the stele and seraph blades in her gear before picking up her book bag and slinging it over her shoulder. Looking down at him, her breath caught in her throat. He was leaning back on his elbows, looking up at her like she was the world._

 _"I'll be there." She said, her words coming out both nervously and firmly. She would be wherever he was. And then she sighed. Except right now. Right now she had to get to her next class. "Lucian," she turned to her best friend and Valentine's_ parabatai. _"You ready?"_

 _Lucian sighed, "I guess," he said sounding resigned. "Though I don't know why we bother. It's not like Fell would notice if we were there or not. I don't even know why he bothers teaching. Everyone knows he hates it."_

 _"A warlock shouldn't be teaching Shadowhunters anyway," Valentine said annoyed._

 _"Yeah, well, we don't make the rules," Jocelyn said, reaching down and pulling Lucian to his feet. When she turned back to Valentine, he was already on his feet so close to her it made her heart jump. She shook her head, grinning at the effect he had on her. "But right now . . ." she began, but was utterly distracted by Valentine's hand on her face, his thumb stroking her jaw. "Right now . . ." Jocelyn tried again. Valentine smiled as he pressed against her, his hand bringing her face up to meet his. His onyx eyes brushed over her, taking in her features and sending her heart slamming against her ribs. "Right now the rules are that we have to get to class." She finally finished in a whisper. How was it possible that he was hers?  
_

 _Valentine laughed softly. "If that's what you want," he said throatily. "And you're right. We don't make the rules . . . yet." And then his lips were on hers. So soft and smooth and perfect._

 _That night, Jocelyn had to wait for her parents to fall asleep before sneaking out of her upstairs window. Lake Lyn wasn't far and she made it in record time. She was always excited to see Valentine, her body tingling at the prospect. But she was also nervous. Because he had been nervous when he had asked her to meet him here. He was never nervous._

 _At night, the lake was calm and the stars above reflected brightly off the glass like surface. It was beautiful. This had always been one of her favorite places to go. Watching as the breeze swept lazily though the grass, while crickets sang in the back ground. And every so often a lightning bug would fly by, like a shooting star. But it had become all the more special after she had started coming here with Valentine. But where was he? As if hearing the thought, a soft rustling came from behind her, and Jocelyn spun to see Valentine standing there._

 _Something was wrong. She knew it the moment she saw him. "Valentine," she cried out as she rushed to his side. His white blonde hair was disheveled. He looked sick. "Valentine, what's wrong?"_

 _Folding her into his arms, he held her against him for some time before he spoke. She listened as his heart pounded rapidly, wondering what could possibly have happened since she had last seen him. "Nothing's wrong, Jocelyn," he said finally. "Well, not yet anyway. It depends."_

 _"I don't understand," she said slowly, letting go of him so that she could see him clearly. "You said you needed to talk to me."_

 _"Ah, that . . ." Valentine trailed off. "You know, I've always prided myself on words. I'm quite articulate when I need to be."_

 _"So I've noticed," Jocelyn quipped, trying to lighten the mood, though she couldn't unknot the nerves that were jumbling in the pit of her stomach._

 _"And yet, I find that when I need them now . . . I'm at a loss." Valentine said slowly. Reaching out he took her by the shoulders. "Jocelyn, you take my words away from me."_

 _"Oh." It was all she could think to say. Was that supposed to be a compliment?_

 _"No, let me explain." He was pacing now. "I love you. You know that. But . . ."_ But. _Jocelyn felt a veil pull down over her eyes at that one word. Was he breaking up with her? Shaking her head, she forced herself to listen. "I know what I want in life, Jocelyn. I want to fix the Clave. I want to fix the Institutes. You know this. But I can't imagine doing it without you. I can't imagine you not being by my side through all of it."_

 _"Valentine," Jocelyn said softly. "You know I'll be there. You know I believe in you—"_

 _"Jocelyn, marry me." The words were blurted out, and Jocelyn felt herself freeze. Even Valentine looked shocked at his forwardness. And then he was in front of her, taking her face in his hands, his eyes soft and nervous and unsure. "I mean . . . will you? Will you marry me?"_

 _Swallowing hard, Jocelyn felt the irony at his claiming that she took his words away when she was the one struggling to speak. But even more, was the look on his face. The vulnerability in his eyes. He honestly thought she might say no._

 _And then she was nodding, words still failing her as tears of happiness sprung to her eyes and streamed down her face._

 _"Yes?" Valentine said slowly, disbelieving. "Are you . . . are you saying yes?"_

 _"Yes!" She finally managed out, laughing. And then she jumped as Valentine let out a whoop of excitement, picking her up off her feet and spinning her around._

 _"She said yes!" He shouted into the night, still spinning her. And Jocelyn laughed, burying her face into his neck._

 _._

Blinking away the memory, Jocelyn swallowed against the tightness in her throat. "The only person who told me I shouldn't marry him was Madeleine. We'd been friends in school, but when I told her I was engaged, she said that Valentine was selfish and hateful, that his charm masked a terrible amorality. I told myself she was jealous."

"Was she?" Clary asked.

Jocelyn shook her head and looked down at her hands. "No, she was telling the truth. I just didn't want to hear it."

"But you were sorry," Clary pressed. "After you married him, you were sorry you did it, right?"

"Clary," Jocelyn said, looking at her daughter. She could hear the exasperation in her own voice, but she knew what her daughter wanted her to say and she just couldn't. Jocelyn had promised her the truth. "We were _happy._ At least for the first few years. We went to live in my parents' manor house, where I grew up; Valentine didn't want to be in the city, and he wanted the rest of the Circle to avoid Alicante and the prying eyes of the Clave as well. The Wayland's lived in the manor just a mile or two from ours, and there were others close by—the Lightwoods, the Penhallows. It was like being at the center of the world, with all this activity swirling around us, all this passion, and through it all I was by Valentine's side. He never made me feel dismissed or inconsequential. No, I was a key part of the Circle. I was one of the few whose opinions he trusted. He told me over and over that without me, he couldn't do any of it. Without me, he'd be nothing."

"He _did?"_ Clary asked surprised, if not someone suspiciously.

"He did," Jocelyn nodded, "but it wasn't true. Valentine could never have been nothing. He was born to be a leader, to be the center of a revolution. More and more converts came to him. They were drawn by his passion and the brilliance of his ideas. He rarely even spoke of Downworlders in those early days. It was all about reforming the Clave, changing the laws that were ancient and rigid and wrong. Valentine said there should be more Shadowhunters, more to fight the demons, more Institutes, that we should worry less about hiding and more about protecting the world from demonkind. That we should walk tall and proud in the world. It was seductive, his vision: a world full of Shadowhunters, where demons ran scared and mundanes, instead of believing we didn't exist, thanked us for what we did for them. We were young; we thought thanks were important. We didn't know." Jocelyn swallowed hard. She _should_ have known. She would give anything to know then what she knew now. But it didn't matter. She couldn't change the past or what would happen. Or how it would finally force her to see what she had always refused to see. Looking out over the Square, Jocelyn sighed. "Then I got pregnant."

.

 _"You're pregnant?" Valentine blinked._

 _Jocelyn only smiled wider. "I am."_

 _"You're going to . . . I'm going to be a father?" Valentine blinked again, astonishment clear in his voice and on his face as he placed his hands tenderly on either side of Jocelyn's belly._

 _"Yes," Jocelyn laughed._

 _Dropping to his knees, Valentine buried his face in her stomach, planting light kisses along her skin. "Everything is perfect, Jocelyn," he breathed between his feather light kisses that sent electric currents coursing through her veins. "I've always wanted to be a father—to train our son to be warrior, like my father before me. He will be strong and fast and—"_

 _"And_ she _will be loved," Jocelyn cut him off, with a smile, lifting his face to look up at hers. "Don't forget that you could be getting a daughter."_

 _Valentine only grinned. "A daughter can be just as fearsome a warrior. Especially with you as a mother." Reaching up, he brushed a thumb along her jawline. "I will be happy with either. I love you, Jocelyn."_

 _"I love you, too."_

 _The next few months had been a whirlwind of nesting, dreaming of names, wondering what their child would be, and what kind of world their child would live in. The Circle was making great strides. Jocelyn had been so happy, that the first time she had a nightmare, she had tried to shrug it off. Everyone had nightmares, sometimes. But the next night, it happened again._

 _"No!" Jocelyn rocketed up, her chest heaving and sweat dripping from her face, drenching her hair. It was a dream, she told herself. Just a nightmare. Next to her, Valentine's onyx eyes were reflected in the moonlight, as he watched her. Propping himself up on his elbow, he frowned._

 _"Jocelyn?"_

 _She shook her head. She wanted to cower from him, but knew it was ridiculous. He hadn't hurt her. Not really. And yet her dream had seemed so real. Just like last night, he had attacked her. He had tried cutting the baby out. Wrapping her arms around her now slightly protruding stomach, she wept. "It was a nightmare," she cried, trying to convince herself. "Just a nightmare."_

 _"Second one in a row," Valentine said pointedly, but not without concern. "Do you want to tell me about it?"_

 _But Jocelyn only shook her head. It was just a nightmare. At least that's what Lucian had said when she had mentioned it to him yesterday. An unfortunate side effect of her pregnancy. And besides, there was no way she could tell Valentine that he had been the monster in her dreams. It would break him. "No," she breathed, her voice hitching in her throat. "I just want to forget it."_

 _Sighing, Valentine pushed himself into a sitting position and pulled Jocelyn against his cool bare skin. "Pregnancies are weird," he said with the confusion that could only come from someone who could never be pregnant. Jocelyn let out a sharp breath of laughter. Turning to face her, he used his thumbs to wipe away her tears. "How about I make you a sleeping draft?"_

 _"Okay," Jocelyn nodded with a weak smile. "I'll try anything."_

 _Smiling, Valentine was gone and back quickly, the smoking drink in his hand. "Here," he said handing it to her. "This should help."_

 _Taking it, Jocelyn eyed it cautiously. She had taken sleeping drafts before, but never while pregnant. She turned a worried glance to her husband. "You don't think this will hurt the baby, do you?"_

 _Valentine's mouth twitched, as he got back into bed. He was trying not to laugh, Jocelyn realized. She really was being ridiculous, wasn't she? Lying back against his pillow, he looked up at her. "My beautiful crazy pregnant wife—no . . . it will not hurt the baby. Quite the opposite."_

 _Nodding, Jocelyn downed it. Setting the empty flask on her nightstand, she laid her head against Valentine's chest, taking comfort in the feel and smell of his skin as he ran his fingers through her hair. Slowly, her heart began to slow as his other hand drew lazy circles on her pregnant belly. "Don't forget, Luke and I will be going on patrol tomorrow tonight," Valentine said casually. "While I'm gone, I want you to take the time to relax. You've been pushing yourself too hard. I'll make you another sleeping draft before I leave. I want you to take it. You need rest, Jocelyn. For the baby."_

 _"Okay." Jocelyn said sleepily._

 _"Promise me you'll drink it."_

 _"I promise."_

 _._

Blinking, Jocelyn took a breath. "And then Luke was bitten by a werewolf." She said quietly. "They'll tell you there is a one in two chance that a bite will pass on lycanthropy. I think it's more like three in four. I've rarely seen anyone escape the disease, and Luke was no exception. At the next full moon he Changed.

.

 _Jocelyn had been putting water on to boil when the knock came on the door. Wiping her hands on a nearby towel, she wasn't expecting her world to change when she opened it._

 _"Lucian?" she breathed in horror. Her best friend was standing there, his clothes hanging off him in ribbons, dried blood coating his hands and face. He was breathing hard, tears streaming down his face._

 _"Jocelyn," he breathed miserably. He stumbled, only just catching himself on the doorframe. His hand left a smear of blood on the wood where he held it. "Jocelyn please . . . help . . ."_

 _Rushing forward, Jocelyn reached a hand out for her friend. And then Valentine was there. "Jocelyn!" he shouted, grabbing her by the shoulder and pulling her back, placing himself between her and Lucian. "The baby!"_

 _But this was Lucian! Her best friend. Her husband's_ parabatai. _"Valentine . . ." Jocelyn said slowly. Trying to stay calm. But she could feel the tears streaming down her own face._

 _"What are you doing here, Lucian?" Valentine growled. He was treating him like a downworlder. But this was Lucian. Her best friend._

 _"I didn't—" Lucian coughed, blood spraying from his lips. Jocelyn's heart broke at the sight. "I didn't know where else to go. Help me, brother . . . please."_

 _Valentine was silent for a long time, though his body did not relax. Turning he grabbed his jacket off the nearby hook. "Jocelyn . . ." she could see the pain in her husband eyes as they met hers. But there was something else. Something she couldn't quite explain or identify. Having never had a_ parabatai _of her own . . . she supposed she never would. "Go finish your lemon water."_

 _And with that, he took Lucian by the shoulder and practically dragged him off the porch._

 _Jocelyn sat and waited, her heart ticking off the time._

 _It was nearly nightfall when Valentine came back. Jocelyn met him at the door. "Where's Lucian?" She asked as Valentine took off his jacket. "Valentine . . . where's . . ."_

 _And then his eyes met hers and she knew before he even spoke. Shaking her head, she took a step back. "He's dead, Jocelyn," Valentine said miserably. But this had to be a joke. This was Lucian. This was her best friend. "He killed himself . . . he said he would not live as a werewolf and he. . ." Valentine sat hard into the chair as though his legs had failed him, and his onyx eyes, filled with regret and so much pain, met Jocelyn's. "I tried to stop him."_

 _Everything went black._

 _._

It wasn't until she felt the feather light touch of Clary's hand on hers, that Jocelyn looked up. "But he gave Luke a knife," Clary said gently. "He told him to kill himself. He made Amatis's husband divorce her, just because her brother had become a werewolf."

Jocelyn knew all of this now, of course. But at the time . . . "I didn't know," she said miserably. "After Luke died, it was like I fell into a black pit. I spent months in my bedroom, sleeping all the time, eating only because of the baby. Mundanes would call what I had depression, but Shadowhunters don't have those kind of terms. Valentine believed I was having a difficult pregnancy. He told everyone I was ill. I _was_ ill—I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking I heard strange noises, cries in the night. Valentine gave me sleeping drafts, but those just gave me nightmares. Terrible dreams that Valentine was holding me down, was forcing a knife into me, or that I was choking on poison. In the morning I'd be exhausted, and I'd sleep all day. I had no idea what was going on outside, no idea that he'd forced Stephen to divorce Amatis and marry Céline. I was in a daze. And then . . ." Jocelyn choked on her words, wringing her hands tightly together in an effort to keep them from shaking. Her heart was pounding loudly in her ears. "And then I had the baby."

.

 _"Push, Jocelyn!"_

 _Jocelyn screamed, sure the pain would consume her. "I can't," she cried, panting hard. "Mom, please . . ."_

 _"You can do this, Jocelyn," her mother said softly, dabbing at her face with a cool rag. "Come on. One more."_

 _Bearing down, Jocelyn pushed as hard as she could and . . . "Oh!" she gasped. It was like everything had left her body. She felt suddenly . . . empty._

 _"It's a boy!" her mother cried out, beaming down at Jocelyn. Jocelyn watched, exhausted as her mother and the midwife took the baby over to a nearby table that had been set up. She could only see bits and pieces of him as they set about cleaning him. But there was something off. Something Jocelyn couldn't quite place.  
_

 _"What's wrong with him?" Jocelyn asked nervously from her bed. "Mom, what's wrong?"_

 _"Nothing, Jocelyn," her mother said smiling with confusion. "Why would you think something was wrong?"_

 _"Why isn't he crying?" Jocelyn asked worried. Babies cried didn't they? When they were born, they cried. "Is something wrong? He should be—"_

 _"Jocelyn, calm down," Her mother said softly. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with him. See?" And she placed the now clean and bundled baby in Jocelyn's arms._

 _Jocelyn looked down at the sleeping infant in her arms, her heart swelling. He was perfect. He had a white-blond tuft of hair and his milky white skin was reminiscent of his fathers. Careful, she tucked the soft blanket around the precious infant. She finally felt as if it had all been worth it; the sleepless nights, the nightmares, the pain and terror and hallucinations . . . all worth it._

 _"Hi," Jocelyn whispered to her baby, her voice shaking with exhaustion as tears of happiness streamed down her face. At the sound of her voice, the baby opened his eyes._

 _And Jocelyn froze in horror._

 _Never had she looked pure evil in the face, until now. It's eyes were black—not the warm onyx of his father, but like pits of despair. Jocelyn began shaking hard. She couldn't stop. It was like ice water had been poured over her. What was this . . . this thing? This was not her baby. She looked up in terror at her mother, who was happily cooing at the child in her daughter's arms. Suddenly Jocelyn was very hot—she was burning. As if acid had been thrown on her. Her skin melting. It took everything she had not to cast the child away. This was not her baby. This was not even human! This was a demon spawn! A monster! Her heart was hammering, her body was screaming at her to get rid of it._

 _"His name is Jonathan."_

 _Jumping, Jocelyn looked up at Valentine. She hadn't even heard him enter the room. And She had never seen him look more proud. But it was all wrong. All of it._

 _._

"Mom," Clary breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. But Jocelyn heard her. She couldn't bring herself to look at the horror on her daughters face, however. "Maybe—" Clary's voice hitched in her throat and Jocelyn heard her swallow hard. "Maybe you were in shock or something. Or maybe you were sick—"

"That's what Valentine told me," Jocelyn cut her off flatly, her tone void of emotion. "That I was sick. Valentine adored Jonathan. He couldn't understand what was wrong with me. And I knew he was right. I was a monster, a mother who couldn't stand her own child. I thought about killing myself. I might have done it too—and then I got a message, delivered by fire-letter, from Ragnor Fell. He was a warlock who had always been close to my family; he was the one we called on when we needed a healing spell, that sort of thing. He'd found out that Luke had become the leader of a pack of werewolves in the Brocelind Forest, by the eastern border." Jocelyn sighed then. "I burned the note once I got it. I knew Valentine could never know. But it wasn't until I went to the werewolf encampment and saw Luke that I knew for certain that Valentine had lied to me, lied to me about Luke's suicide. It was then that I started to truly hate him.

.

 _"Jocelyn."_

 _But Jocelyn couldn't move. She couldn't speak. She only watched as Lucian took a cautious step out of the surrounding trees toward her. Surprisingly, Jocelyn found herself fighting against her own instincts. He was a werewolf. A danger. Everything the Circle was against. But he was still Lucian. Her best friend. Her lips trembled as he came closer. He was shirtless, his usually pale skin tanned by the sun. Time as a werewolf had toned his body in a way being a Shadowhunter never could. He was both beautiful and terrifying. Pushing his hair out of his face, he met Jocelyn's green eyes with his own grey ones. The same grey eyes that she had always turned to._

 _"Lucian," she whispered. And the tears that she had been fighting back, finally broke loose. Within seconds, she was in his arms. She had barely seen him move—he was so fast now. She held to him and she cried. Cried for the friend she had thought she lost. And he let her.  
_

 _"Jocelyn," he said after awhile. "How did you find me? Why are you here? Is Valentine—"_

 _Swallowing hard, Jocelyn wiped back her tears. "I thought you were dead. He told me you were dead. That you had killed yourself." The words streamed out, and she was unable to stop them. "This whole time . . ." She shook her head. "But Ragnor told me the truth. But he said you were dead!"_

 _"Joce, why don't we slow down—here, sit." Jocelyn looked at the tree stump only a second before sitting on it. Kneeling in front of her, Lucian captured her eyes. "Now," he began slowly. "Who said I killed myself?"_

 _"Valentine."_

 _At her word, Lucian surprised her by giving a sharp bitter laugh. "Of course."_

 _"What does that mean?" Jocelyn asked, her brow furrowing._

 _"Nothing, its just . . . it was supposed to be a routine patrol—the night I got bit. It also just happened to occur after I had asked Valentine about what you had told me. About the nightmare you had had. Next thing I know, he wants to go on patrol and . . . well . . ." He gestured at himself as if that explained everything._

 _But Jocelyn was shaking her head. "How did you know about my nightmares?"_

 _Seeing her face, Lucian hesitated. "Jocelyn . . . ," he said slowly. "You told me, remember? You said you were scared . . ."_

 _"I didn't," Jocelyn disagreed. "I—I don't remember that."_

 _"What do you mean?" Lucian shook his head, raking his fingers through his hair. He looked confused. "Joce, you said that you felt like something was wrong—that you had heard things."_

 _Jocelyn stared at Lucian; at his tanned muscular body, his smooth face that could use a shave, his kind grey eyes. They had always been kind eyes. Lycanthropy had not changed that. And he had never lied to her before. But to say that she had told him about her nightmare? That she was scared? No. That was not something she would just forget. "I was pregnant, Lucian. I don't know what I told you, but . . . ," Jocelyn shook her head. "I'm fine now."_

 _Lucian didn't look convinced. "Are you? Then why are you here?" Frowning, he reached forward and took her hand. "How's the baby?"_

 _Jocelyn let out a breath._

 _Sitting in bed that night, Jocelyn thought of the days events. About the things Lucian had told her. She had not gotten to spend nearly enough time with him. They had not had nearly enough time to catch up—but only because Jocelyn had cut it short. He had asked about the baby and she couldn't bring herself to tell him the truth. She couldn't stand another person looking at her as though she were crazy. Especially not Lucian. As she fell asleep, she told herself that she would make herself love Jonathan._

 _The sound of a baby crying woke her._

 _Sitting up, she sat there confused. Jonathan was crying? And then astonishment replaced confusion as the wailing grew steadily louder. Jonathan was crying! He never cried. She turned to share her surprise with her husband before remembering that Valentine was at a Circle meeting. Getting up, she moved quickly down the hall, her promise to herself still pounding through her head._ I will make myself love him. _But upon entering his room, she found the baby sleeping soundly. And yet, the crying had not stopped._

 _Running back to her room, Jocelyn pulled a seraph blade out of her nightstand. Taking a breath, she followed the sound._

 _"Hello?" She called out, as she rounded the corner, the blade steady in her hand. She wasn't sure who she was expecting an answer from. Turning another corner, she was brought up short by the cellar door. The crying was coming from somewhere behind it. But how was that possible? The cellar hadn't been used in years. Reaching forward, she tried the handle and found it locked. It didn't take her long to grab her father's hidden key._

 _Flinging the door open, Jocelyn coughed on the stench that hit her in the face. It was like nothing she had ever smelled before. Like something had decayed. Grabbing a rag she held it to her face with her free hand while holding the blade out in front of her with her other hand. Slowly she made her way down the stairs, into the darkness._

 _"Hello?" she called out again at the bottom of the stairs, her voice muffled through the rag. It was doing nothing to help the smell that had become so concentrated in the air. She felt nauseous. Stumbling through the dark, her fingers came across a lantern on the wall and she quickly lit the witchlight._

 _As she screamed in horror, she'd give anything to unsee what was in front of her._

 _Cells. Dozens of cells had been built down there. And inside each one were Downworlders in varying degrees of death and decay. It wasn't long before she located the crying she had heard. It was a child—a werewolf child. Silver powder covering half its body._

 _"Oh my God," Jocelyn breathed, pulling on the cage door. The child gave one final whimper and then . . . nothing. Giving a shuddering breath, Jocelyn shook her head, dropping her blade and rag. "No." She pounded on the cage, pulled at the lock—desperate to free a child that was beyond saving. "No, no, NO!" Screaming, she grabbed at her hair and spun around. But the horror was everywhere. Vampires doused in holy water, faeries pierced with cold iron. This had to be a nightmare. Just another nightmare!_

 _She had made it to the stairs when a pair of grey eyes flashed behind her lids. Lucian. What if one of these had been—a strangled cry left Jocelyn. Clutching at her chest, she slumped down on the steps. This couldn't be. She knew Valentine was no fan of Downworlders, but this? This was barbaric! This was not the man she had married. Getting shakily to her feet, she forced herself to move deeper into the cellar. She owed it to Lucian. He had said that she told him things. Things she couldn't remember. A scream caused Jocelyn to jump. The wails, the banging on cages, the stench of death. Several times she gagged, but managed to keep it all down as she pushed herself forward. Forcing herself to look. It was there at the back of the room that she found the desk and book shelves filled with ledgers. Pulling one after another down, she read about vampire experiments—werewolves, pixies, mermaids, demons._

 _She wanted to scream. The things Valentine had done to not just Downworlders, but to himself. Injecting their blood, making himself sick. Pulling down another journal, she nearly dropped it. Her name had been written in it. Taking a ragged breath, she forced herself to open it. She forced herself to read. But she couldn't stop the tears that were streaming down her face as she clawed at the pages with trembling fingers. Demon blood. Valentine had been feeding her demon blood during her pregnancy. And not just any demon, but a Greater Demon—Lilith. He had summoned Lilith. He had turned their baby into a monster._

 _Dropping the book, she slumped against the wall, the weight and grief of it all finally too much to bear._

 _._

"And that, Clary— _that_ was when I realized what Valentine really was."

Jocelyn let out a shuddering breath, as she turned to look at her daughter, who had not said a word through it all. Clary looked sick. She had every right to. Just remembering it made Jocelyn ill as well. And it was some time before Clary spoke.

"But—" Clary shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "You didn't leave then, did you? You stayed . . ."

Jocelyn nodded slowly, watching as one of the guards walked by. "For two reasons," she said after the guard rounded a corner. "One was the Uprising. What I found in the cellar that night was like a slap in the face. It woke me up out of my misery and made me see what was going on around me. Once I realized what Valentine was planning—the wholesale slaughter of Downworlders—I knew I couldn't let it happen. I began meeting in secret with Luke. I couldn't tell him what Valentine had done to me and to our child. I knew it would just drive him mad, that he'd be unable to stop himself from trying to hunt down Valentine and kill him, and he'd only get himself killed in the process. And I couldn't let anyone else know what had been done to Jonathan either. Despite everything, he was still my child. But I did tell Luke about the horrors of the cellar, of my conviction that Valentine was losing his mind, becoming progressively more insane. Together, we planned to thwart the Uprising. I felt driven to do it, Clary. It was a sort of expiation, the only way I could make myself feel like I had paid for the sin of ever having joined the Circle, of having trusted Valentine. Of having loved him."

"And he didn't know?" Clary asked, surprised. "Valentine, I mean. He didn't figure out what you were doing?"

Shaking her head, Jocelyn sighed. "When people love you, they trust you. Besides, at home I tried to pretend everything was normal. I behaved as though my initial revulsion at the sight of Jonathan was gone. I would bring him over to Maryse Lightwood's house, let him play with her baby son, Alec. Sometimes Céline Herondale would join us—she was pregnant by that time. 'Your husband is so kind,' she would tell me. 'He is so concerned about Stephen and me. He gives me potions and mixtures for the health of the baby; they're wonderful.'"

"Oh," Clary's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide. "Oh my God."

"That's what I thought," Jocelyn said, agreeing with her daughters revulsion. "I wanted to tell her not to trust Valentine or to accept anything he gave her, but I couldn't. Her husband was Valentine's closest friend, and she would have betrayed me to him immediately. I kept my mouth shut. And then—"

"She killed herself," Clary finished grimly, meeting her mothers sad eyes. "But—was it because of what Valentine did to her?"

"I honestly don't think so," Jocelyn said, shaking her head. "Stephen was killed in a raid, and she slit her wrists when she found out the news. She was eight months pregnant. She bled to death . . ." Dropping her head in her hands, Jocelyn took a breath. This was a lot. These were things she has not had to talk about . . . ever. Things she had hoped to someday forget. "Hodge was the one who found her body," she forced herself to continue. "And Valentine actually did seem distraught over their deaths. He vanished for almost an entire day afterward, and came home bleary-eyed and staggering. And yet, in a way, I was almost grateful for his distraction. At least it meant he wasn't paying attention to what I was doing. Everyday I became more and more frightened that Valentine would discover the conspiracy and try to torture the truth out of me: Who was in our secret alliance? How much had I betrayed of his plans? I wondered how I would withstand torture, whether I could hold up against it. I was terribly afraid that I couldn't. I resolved to take steps to make sure that this never happened . . ."

.

 _"Ragnor!" Jocelyn pounded on the door. "Ragnor, please let me in!"_

 _It was after a several more knocks that the heavy wooden cabin door swung open. Ragnor stood in the entryway, looking both cautious and curious. His pale green skin washed together with the background colors of his home, but the white hair and small horns stood out as they always did._

 _"Jocelyn Morgenstern," he said in way of greeting, but there was no denying from the look on his face, that he did not want her there._

 _"Please, may I come in?"_

 _Maybe it was the look on her face, or the desperation in her voice, but Ragnor nodded and allowed Jocelyn to pass through the door. Walking in behind her, the warlock took a seat in an old highback Queen Anne style chair. Crossing his legs, he picked a pipe up off the nearby table and began stuffing it with tobacco. Jocelyn on the other hand, went directly to a window and looked out it. She had been worried that someone might have followed her._

 _"I must say that I'm surprised to see the wife of Valentine Morgenstern here—in the home of a Downworlder." Ragnor said, lighting his pipe with his finger tip. Startled, Jocelyn turned to stare, watching as white smoke rings rose higher and higher. But when she didn't respond, Ragnor tapped out the pipe. "Let us not make pretenses, Jocelyn. Your husband is no friend of Downworlders. Nor is his Circle. A Circle_ you _are apart of."_

 _"I don't want to be," Jocelyn whispered, not recognizing her own voice. It was small and frightened. "I made a mistake."_

 _"And what does this have to do with me?" He asked bored. "Marital problems are hardly my area of expertise, lest you already forgot my lessons?"_

 _Jocelyn began pacing. She knew how this must look—how_ she _must look. But she had to make him understand. He_ had _to help her. "I can't stay with him, Ragnor," she said both wretchedly and desperately. "Not for another day." Shaking her head, she went and looked out the window again. "I read his book. Do you know what he did to Jonathan? I didn't think even Valentine could do that." And then her shoulders shuddered as tears fell from her eyes. "He used demon blood," she whispered with cruel heartbreak. "Jonathan's not a baby anymore. He isn't even human." Turning she met Ragnor's eyes. "He's a monster."_

 _"And what is it you plan to do about it, Jocelyn?" Ragnor asked without emotion. "And what is it you want from me?"_

 _"I don't know," Jocelyn said quickly. "He's planning something terrible against the Clave and Downworlders. I'm working to stop him—I_ will _stop him. And afterwards, I'm going to leave him, Ragnor. I'm going to leave the whole shadow world. But he won't let me go so easily. If he finds me, I need something—something that will protect me. Something to insure he can't—"_

 _Ragnor put up his hand stopping her. "The less I know is probably for the best," he said grimly. And then he got up and went to a nearby cupboard. Jocelyn watched and listened as glass bottles clinked against each other like wind chimes, but she did not speak. Her heart was pounding. Finally, Ragnor turned around. In his hand was a small stoppered vial. "Against my better judgment, I am choosing to help you, Jocelyn Morgenstern. I believe you are sincere in your desire to get away from your husband. To stop him. If there comes a time when he finds you, drink this. It will render you unconscious until the proper antidote is administered."_

 _Jocelyn took the potion gingerly in her hands. "And what's the antidote?"_

 _At her question, Ragnor produced a small grayish white book. "The only antidote capable of curing that potion is in this book—the Book of White. Hide it well, tell no one, and should the time come that you need to use it, call on me. I will craft the antidote."_

 _"Thank you, Ragnor."_

 _"Your thanks mean nothing if you don't stop your husband."_

 _It wasn't until she was home, staring at the potion, that Jocelyn realized that if she ever used it, she would not be able to contact Fell. She would be unconscious. She would have to tell someone. Her first thought was Lucian, but she scrapped the idea immediately. He would never let her take the potion. And after sending a message to Ragnor, she found out that he was leaving the country. So who? Everyone she knew was in the Circle! Everyone she knew would run to Valentine.  
_

 _It was then that it hit her. The one person who had refused to be swayed by Valentine. That night she wrote a letter to Madeleine, telling her everything—begging her for help. And for forgiveness._

.

"Two reasons," Clary said, after a small pause. "You said there were two reasons that you stayed. One was the Uprising. What was the other?"

At that, Jocelyn turned tired eyes to her daughter. Her beautiful daughter who was so much braver and than she was. Her daughter, who was Jocelyn's whole world. Her reason for going on. "Clary," she said slowly, tugging on one of her red curls. "Can't you guess? The second reason is that I was pregnant again. Pregnant with you."

"Oh." Clary's eyes dropped down to her hands. "But didn't that make you want to run away even more?"

Jocelyn nodded. "Yes, but I knew I couldn't. If I'd run away from Valentine, he would have moved heaven and hell to get me back. He would have followed me to the ends of the earth, because I belonged to him and he would never have let me go. And maybe I would have let him come after me, and taken my chances, but I would never have let him come after you." Sweeping her hair back over her shoulder, Jocelyn sighed. "There was only one way I could make sure he never did. And that was for him to die." Jocelyn could feel Clary's wide shocked eyes on her now, but she only shook her head. "I thought he'd be killed in the Uprising," she continued. I couldn't have killed him myself. I couldn't have brought myself to, somehow. But I never thought he'd survive the battle. And later when the house burned, I wanted to believe he was dead. I told myself over and over that he and Jonathan had burned to death in the fire. But I knew . . ." Jocelyn clenched her hands together as flames from long since past assaulted her eyes, and the smell of burning wood and charred flesh assaulted her nose. "It was why I did what I did," she said shaking away the memory. I thought it was the only way to protect you—taking your memories, making you into as much of a mundane as I could. Hiding you in the mundane world. It was stupid, I realize that now, stupid and wrong. And I'm sorry, Clary. I just hope you can forgive me—if not now, then in the future."

"Mom," Clary said shakily, clearing her throat as she turned her body toward her mother. "It's okay." No it wasn't. It would never be okay. But Jocelyn didn't say anything. She didn't trust herself to. "It's just," Clary continued, unsure. "There's one thing I don't get. I mean, I knew already a little of what Valentine did to Jace—I mean, to Jonathan. But the way you describe Jonathan, it's like he was a monster. And, Mom, Jace isn't like that. He's nothing like that. If you knew him—if you could just meet him—"

Ah, Jace. Yet another matter to discuss. Jocelyn couldn't possibly begin to understand how her daughter or Jace had felt the last few weeks. Or how her daughter would feel once she found out the truth. She couldn't imagine. It was this next part that Luke had been adamant about Jocelyn telling Clary. But it didn't make it any easier. "Clary," Jocelyn said, taking a breath. Reaching out she took her daughter's hand and held it tightly. "There's more I have to tell you. There's nothing more that I hid from you, or lied about. But there are things I never knew, things I only just discovered. And they may be very hard to hear."

Clary's emerald eyes shimmered in the witchlight. "Go ahead and tell me," she said slowly. "I'd rather know."

Jocelyn nodded. "When Dorothea told me that Valentine had been sighted in the city, I knew he was there for me—for the Cup. I wanted to flee, but I couldn't bring myself to tell you why. I don't blame you at all for running from me that awful night, Clary. I was just glad you weren't there when your father—when Valentine and his demons broke into our apartment, I just had time to swallow the potion—I could hear them breaking the door down . . ." Jocelyn trailed off, taking a ragged breath. "I hoped Valentine would leave me for dead, but he didn't. He brought me to Renwick's with him. He tried various methods to wake me up, but nothing worked. I was in a sort of dream state; I was half conscious that he was there, but I couldn't move or respond to him. I doubt he thought I could hear or understand him. And yet he would sit by the bed while I slept and talk to me."

"Talk to you?" Clary asked. She looked as though she thought the whole concept of it was creepy. She wasn't wrong. "About what?"

"About our past," Jocelyn said flatly. "Our marriage. How he had loved me and I had betrayed him. How he hadn't loved anyone since. I think he meant it too, as much as he could mean these things, I had always been the one he'd talk to about the doubts he had, the fear he felt, and in the years since I'd left him, I don't think there'd ever been anyone else. I think he couldn't stop himself from talking to me, even thought he knew he shouldn't. I think he just wanted to talk to someone. You'd have thought that what was on his mind would be what he'd done to those poor people, making them Forsaken, and what he was planning to do to the Clave, But it wasn't. What he wanted to take about was Jonathan."

"What about him?" Clary asked with bated breath, and Jocelyn looked at her daughter. It was clear that Clary wanted her to go on, but it was also clear that she was scared to hear whatever it was that Jocelyn had to say. Pressing her lips together tightly, Jocelyn forced herself to continue.

"He wanted to tell me he was sorry for what he'd done to Jonathan before he'd been born, because he knew it had nearly destroyed me. He'd known I was close to suicide over Jonathan—though he didn't know I was also despairing over what I'd discovered about him. He'd somehow gotten hold of angel blood. It's an almost legendary substance for Shadowhunters. Drinking it is supposed to give you incredible strength. Valentine had tried it on himself and discovered that it gave him not just increased strength but a feeling of euphoria and happiness every time he injected it into his blood. So he took some, dried it to powder, and mixed it into my food, hoping it would help my despair."

"Do you think it worked at all?" Clary asked with a surprising amount of sadness in her voice.

"I do wonder now if that was why I suddenly found the focus and ability to go on, and to help Luke thwart the Uprising. It would be ironic if that was the case, considering why Valentine did it in the first place. But what he didn't know was that while he was doing this, I was pregnant with you. So while it may have affected me slightly, it affected you much more. I believe that's why you can do what you can with runes."

Clary's eyes went wide, as if something were clicking into place. "And maybe," she said slowly, "why you can do things like trap the image of the Mortal Cup in a tarot card. And Why Valentine can do things like take the curse off Hodge—"

"Valentine," Jocelyn cut in, seeing how worked up her daughter was getting. "Has had years of experimenting on himself in a myriad of ways." Whatever he was capable of doing, was _not_ the work of angel. "He's as close now as a human being, a Shadowhunter, can get to a warlock. But nothing he can do to himself would have the kind of profound effect on him it would have on you or Jonathan, because you were so young. I'm not sure anyone's ever before done what Valentine did, not to a baby before it was born."

"So Jace—Jonathan—and I really _were_ both experiments."

Swallowing hard, Jocelyn nodded. And then she shook her head. "You were an unintentional one. With Jonathan, Valentine wanted to create some kind of superwarrior, stronger and faster and better than other Shadowhunters. At Renwick's Valentine told me that Jonathan really was all those things. But that he was also cruel and amoral and strangely empty. Jonathan was loyal enough to Valentine, but I suppose Valentine realized that somewhere along the way, in trying to create a child who was superior to others, he'd created a son who could never really love him."

Clary was silent, lost in a memory somewhere, and Jocelyn took the moment of silence to stare down at her daughters hand in hers. It was a lot to take in. A lot to ask someone to believe.

"No," Clary said suddenly, taking her hand back and startling Jocelyn. "No and no." Clary shook her head vehemently, her eyes blazing. "Jace is _not_ like that. He _does_ love Valentine. He shouldn't, but he does. And he isn't empty. He's the opposite of everything you're saying."

Closing her eyes, Jocelyn twisted her fingers in her lap, they were still warm from having held Clary's hand. This was it, then. The truth of what she had learned. Taking a breath, she met her daughters fierce eyes. "I am not talking about Jace."

Clary looked as thought she'd been slapped. "But . . ." she trailed off. Shaking her head, she opened her mouth to speak again, but nothing came out. It was several seconds before she finally captured the words she wanted. "Jace is Valentine's son. I mean, who else could he be?"

Reaching forward, Jocelyn took Clary's hand back in hers. "The night Céline Herondale died, she was eight months pregnant. Valentine had been giving her potions, powders—he was trying on her what he'd tried on himself, with Ithuriel's blood, hoping that Stephen's child would be as strong as he suspected Jonathan would be, but without Jonathan's worse qualities. He couldn't bear that his experiment would go to waste, so with Hodge's help he cut the baby out of Céline's stomach. She'd only been dead a short time—"

"That—" Clary sputtered, gagging, "—isn't possible."

Jocelyn frowned. "Valentine took the baby and had Hodge bring it to his own childhood home, in a valley not far from Lake Lyn. It was why he was gone all that night. Hodge took care of the baby until the Uprising. After that, because Valentine was pretending to be Michael Wayland, he moved the child to the Wayland manor and raised him as Michael Wayland's son."

"So Jace," Clary exhaled breathily. "Jace is _not_ my brother?"

Squeezing her daughters hand, Jocelyn felt her heart crack at her daughters words. "No, Clary. He's not." And Clary looked away, her chest heaving as she looked out at Angel Square. Jocelyn couldn't imagine what her daughter was feeling. It must have been so exciting for her to find out that she had a brother like Jace—Jocelyn would have happily taken Jace as her son—only to find out that he wasn't. That the truth was something far worse. Far more monstrous.

"Then whose bones were those in the fire?" Clary asked, her voice trembling. "Luke said there were a child's bones—"

It was a second before Jocelyn knew what she was talking about, but when she finally did, she shook her head sadly. The Fairchild manor . . . the bodies burning. The bodies that were supposed to be Valentine and Jonathan. "Those were Michael Wayland's bones, and his son's bones. Valentine killed them both and burned their bodies. He wanted the Clave to believe that both he and his son were dead."

"Then Jonathan—"

"Is alive," said Jocelyn painfully. "Valentine told me as much at Renwick's. Valentine brought Jace up in the Wayland manor, and Jonathan in the house near the lake. He managed to divide his time between the two of them, traveling from one house to the other, sometimes leaving one or both alone for long periods of time. It seems that Jace never knew about Jonathan, though Jonathan may have know about Jace. They never met, though they probably lived only miles form each other."

"And Jace doesn't have demon blood in him?" Clary asked as though she hadn't heard a word Jocelyn just said. She sounded almost desperate. "He's not cursed?"

"Cursed?" Jocelyn repeated surprised. What was this about? Hadn't she been listening? "No, he doesn't have demon blood. Clary, Valentine experimented on Jace when he was a baby with the same blood he used on me, on you. _Angel_ blood. Jace isn't cursed. The opposite, if anything. All Shadowhunters have some of the Angel's blood in them—you two just have a bit more."

Clary seemed to think about this, and then, "Do you think he's still the same?" she asked. "Jonathan, I mean? Do you think he could have gotten . . . better?"

Jocelyn thought about it for a moment, knowing it was pointless to do so. "I don't think so," she said softly.

"But what makes you sure?" Clary pressed eagerly, and Jocelyn's heart broke. She wanted to take her overly optimistic daughter and hug her. "I mean, maybe he's changed. It's been years. Maybe—"

Shaking her head, Jocelyn cut her off. "Valentine told me he had spent years teaching Jonathan how to appear pleasant, even charming. He wanted him to be a spy, and you cant be a spy if you terrify everyone you meet. Jonathan even learned a certain ability to cast slight glamours, to convince people he was likable and trustworthy." Sighing, Jocelyn raked her fingers through her hair. "I'm telling you this so you won't feel bad that you were taken in. Clary, you've met Jonathan. He just never told you his real name, because he was posing as someone else. Sebastian Verlac."

Clary jerked back, her eyes flying wide. Jocelyn could see the string of emotions passing through them as she took in what she had just heard. Jocelyn wished she could help, but there was nothing she could do. Covering her mouth with her hand, Clary spoke through her fingers. "Sebastian's my brother?"

Looking down at her own hands, Jocelyn nodded. "I spoke to Luke for a long time today about everything that's happened in Alicante since you arrived. He told me about the demon towers, and his suspicion that Sebastian had destroyed the wards, though he had no idea how. I realized then who Sebastian really was."

"You mean because he lied about being Sebastian Verlac? And because he's a spy for Valentine?"

"Those two things, yes," Jocelyn said grimly. "But it actually wasn't until Luke said that you told him Sebastian dyed his hair that I guessed. And I could be wrong, but a boy just a little older than you, fair haired and dark eyes, with no apparent parents, utterly loyal to Valentine—I couldn't help but think he must be Jonathan. And there's more than that. Valentine was always trying to find a way to bring the wards down, always determined that there was a way to do it. Experimenting on Jonathan with demon blood—he said it was to make him stronger, a better fighter, but there was more to it than that—"

"What do you mean," Clary began slowly, cutting her off, "more to it?"

"It was his way of bringing down the wards," Jocelyn explained patiently. "You can't bring a demon into Alicante, but you need demons' blood to take down the wards. Jonathan has demon blood; it's in his veins. And his being a Shadowhunter means he's granted automatic entrance into the city whenever he wants to get in, no matter what. He used his own blood to take the wards down. I'm sure of it."

Clary said nothing, and Jocelyn sat with her in silence. She had told her daughter a lot tonight. And she was sure that she would learn a lot more over the next couple days. She had wanted to shield Clary from all this, but now it was clear that she never could. All she had done was prolong the inevitable. This was always going to happen. It wasn't until after another guard passed that Clary finally spoke.

"Jace," she said miserably. "Someone has to tell him. Has to tell him the truth."

Jocelyn's brows furrowed with confusion. "But I thought that nobody knew where he was . . .?" At least that's what Simon had told Luke. Or something like that. Meeting Jocelyn's eyes, Clary opened her mouth just as the large wooden doors were pushed open, casting a sliver of light on them. They both turned to see Luke standing there. He looked exhausted. With her heart pounding, Jocelyn got quickly to her feet. "Luke," she said worriedly. "What is it?"

Stepping away from the door, Luke began to approach them but then stopped as though thinking better of it. And Jocelyn thought back to their talk earlier. Much of it had been whispered. A lot of it had been awkward. Especially when Luke had learned just how much Jocelyn had kept from him all these years. Clary's had not been the only trust Jocelyn had betrayed.

"Jocelyn," he said slowly, his eyes flashing toward Clary. "I'm sorry to interrupt you."

He sounded so formal. He had never sounded like this toward her before. Drawing her shoulders back, Jocelyn nodded. "That's all right, Luke. Is something wrong?"

And then Luke smiled. It was a tired smile, but it was the one that Jocelyn had always loved. The one that crinkled the corner of his eyes. "No," he said shaking his head. "For a change, something's right." And then he turned his attention fully to Clary, his smile going wider. "You did it, Clary," he beamed. "The Clave's agreed to let you Mark them. There will be no surrender after all."

Jocelyn's hand flew to her mouth as she spun to hug her daughter.

She was so proud of her.

And she was so incredibly terrified for her.

* * *

 _ **AN: Please Review!  
**_


	18. Perspectives

**~Chapter Seventeen~**  
 **Perspectives**

Magnus had said very little since Clarissa's dramatic display inside the Accords Hall. Though he would also be lying if he said he wasn't extremely curious about this rune she spoke of. A rune that could unite Downworlders and Shadowhunters? Could such a thing actually exist? And he continued to say very little after she had been sent outside so that the grown ups could talk. And by that, Magnus meant he watched as the Consul puffed up his chest a lot in his desire to hear himself speak. Some Shadowhunters never changed.

But Malachi wasn't just against it. He was so adamantly against it that Magnus had started wondering why. Was he really that eager to lay down for Valentine?

All the same, the Clave had spoken and they would allow Clarissa to Mark them. And now Clarissa was back up on the dais with Luke and Jocelyn as more and more Downworlders poured into the Hall. Magnus wasn't sure who was more nervous about it—the Shadowhunters or the Downworlders. The Shadowhunters had nothing to lose by Marking themselves with this unknown rune. If it worked, they gained Downworlder ability. If it failed, they gained a pointless rune. Downworlders on the other hand . . . well, he wasn't the only one who seemed to be of the sentiment that if the rune didn't work, the consequences for them would be much more disastrous.

"They say runes on Downworlders can cause them to go crazy," Magnus overheard a werewolf saying to one of his pack members.

"That's if we're lucky," the other werewolf said gruffly. "I heard it can kill ya."

Sighing, Magnus closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples. This was ridiculous. He had seen Clarissa's rune making ability. He knew they worked. Opening his eyes, he looked across the room at Alec. He was standing with his sister talking animatedly—probably about the upcoming battle. And he felt a twinge of pain lance his heart as Alexander flicked his hair out of his eyes. The boy really was stupidly beautiful. Magnus should have listened to his cat and gone as far as he could in the other direction.

"I could be in the Bahamas right now," Magnus said out loud to no one in general.

"I'm sorry?"

Blinking, Magnus's cat eyes flashed up to see Luke standing there. The pack leader looked confused but Magnus only shook his head. "The Bahamas!" he reiterated irritably, throwing his hands up. "With an incredibly large tropical _alcoholic_ drink in my hand. But no, I'm here in Alicante preparing for yet another war with the same _ass_ -hunter as the last time!"

Luke's lips twitched. "Ass-hunter?"

"It was all I had in the moment," Magnus said indignantly. "Shut up."

Luke stifled a laugh. "I think you've been spending way too much time with Clary and her friends."

"A sentiment I'm inclined to agree with," Magnus mumbled. And then he sighed. "Was there something you need?"

"Yeah," Luke nodded, and then hesitated, looking at the warlock as if he was really noticing him for the first time. "You're not wearing your usual . . ." and then Luke shook his head as if remembering that he was a guy; and that guys did _not_ discuss another guy's wardrobe. "Come to the dais as soon as you can," he said instead. "Clary's going to show us her rune. I'm gonna go find Meliorn."

Nodding, Magnus watched Luke disappear before looking down at his clothes. He was wearing a simple long black coat that he had buttoned up to his throat. His hair, he had actually not done anything with. Instead, he had pulled it back away from his face using a hair tie. As for his makeup . . . he had not put any on. Given his usual taste in wardrobe and flare, it was no surprise that people would take notice—even a pack leader whose closet seemed to consist of only torn jeans and ripped flannels. But seeing as how Magnus had no intention of telling anyone that he had toned down in hopes of impressing (and maybe easing in) a certain Shadowhunter's parents that he was _supposed_ to have been introduced to . . . everyone would just have to come up with their own theories.

Besides, it wasn't like he blamed Alexander. A lot had happened in the last couple days—with Valentine, with Sebastian, and with Max. The last thing Alec needed was some clingy warlock in his face demanding to know their relationship status.

Sighing he made his way slowly to the dais, reaching it at the same time as Meliron. Nodding politely to the faerie knight, Meliorn took a moment to take in Magnus' clothing with a raised brow, but he said nothing. Which was good, given Magnus could have said quite a bit about the white tunic armor Meliorn was wearing. He looked like a fish. Taking the steps together, they came up behind Luke who was shushing Amatis for something she had said. Jocelyn was there, standing to one side of the chair that her daughter sat in, while the Daylighter stood on the other side. It was all very reminiscent of a queen and her court. Granted, the last time Magnus had met a queen, she had been unconscious. And there had been an air balloon involved.

Here's hoping this went better.

"You look so _plain,"_ Clary blurted out suddenly, catching Magnus's attention.

 _Oh, for the love of_ . . . Magnus cut off the thought as he turned to look at her, giving her a faint smile. Instead he said, "I heard you had a rune to show us."

"Oh," Clarissa said, turning her gaze up to Luke who nodded at her. "Yes . . . I just need something to write on—some paper."

"I _asked_ if you needed anything," Jocelyn breathed reproachfully, and Clary had the good grace to look abashed.

But it was Simon who came to the rescue. "I've got paper," he said, taking a step forward with his hand in his pocket. A second later he pulled out a green piece of paper—a flyer of some sort, Magnus was sure. He was used to seeing them littering the streets of New York.

Taking it with a shrug, clary flipped it over to the blank side. And Magnus took a step forward—they all did—making a tight circle around her as she placed the tip of the stele to the paper and began to draw a series of complex lines. But there was also a simplicity about them that Magnus was surprised to note. When she was finished, Clary held it up to show them. "This is the rune," she said, meeting the eyes of the curious onlookers. She met Magnus's last. "It requires a second rune to complete it, to work properly. A—partner rune." And Magnus was surprised to find himself nodding. She really had done it. This really _could_ work.

"One Downworlder," Luke said then, cutting into Magnus's thoughts as he took the paper out of Clary's hand. "One Shadowhunter." Pulling out a pen, Luke drew the rune again at the bottom of the flyer. "Each half of the partnership has to be marked." Ripping the drawing off the paper, he handed it to Amatis. "Start circulating the rune," he said. "Show the Nephilim how it works."

Amatis nodded and vanished down the steps. Next to him, Magnus heard Meliorn let out a breath. "I have always been told that only the Nephilim can bear the Angel's Marks," he said distrustfully, echoing the concerns Magnus had heard out on the floor. "That others of us will run mad, or die, should we wear them."

But Clary was already shaking her head. "This isn't one of the Angel's Marks," she said. "It's not from the Gray Book. It's safe, I promise."

Meliron looked not only unimpressed, but as though he thought Clary were tricking him. Like he thought this whole thing were some ruse created by the Nephilim to cause a kind of mass Downworlder massacre. Rolling his eyes, Magnus stepped forward with an over-loud sigh and flipped back the sleeve of his coat, exposing his arm to Clary.

"Go ahead," he encouraged. _Maybe this will shut the faerie up._

But Clary had leaned back away from Magnus as though his arm were dangerous. "I can't," she said, shaking her head. "The Shadowhunter who Marks you will be your partner, and I'm not fighting in the battle."

 _Oh. Well_ . . . "I should hope not," Magnus said crossly. She was much too young. Pulling his sleeve back down, he turned and saw Luke and Jocelyn standing together, watching. "You two," he said snapping his fingers at them. "Go on, then. Show the faerie how it works."

"What?" Jocelyn's eyes went wide as her head snapped to Luke and then back to Magnus, who merely raised an expectant brow.

"I assumed," Magnus began, "that you two would be partners, since you're practically married anyway."

Next to him, Clary took a breath. Looking down at her, Magnus saw that she was leaning forward, watching intently as her mother sputtered something about not having a stele. "Take mine," Clary said a bit over eagerly, holding it out. "Go ahead, show them."

And they all watched as Jocelyn took the stele and turned to face Luke, who looked like he might throw up. Which would probably not make a very good impression. Most women had an aversion to being vomited on. Luckily for the pack leader—and everyone within a two foot radius—he seemed to be holding it down. Thrusting his hand out, Jocelyn took Luke's hand gingerly and pressed the stele to his palm. It was then that Magnus remembered that Luke had been a Shadowhunter once. So this, getting Marked after all this time, must be either incredibly exciting or incredibly sad. And then there was the fact that Luke was in love with the Jocelyn—something easily seen by anyone paying attention. But before Magnus could really think about it, Jocelyn had pulled away.

"There," she breathed. "Done." And Luke held up his hand to show off the shiny new Mark.

"Is that satisfactory, Meliorn?" Luke asked, and Magnus was sure he could hear the edge in the pack leaders voice. Like he was holding something back.

 _"Meliorn?"_ Clary blurted out then, breaking the tension as she spun in her chair to look up at the faerie knight. She really did have a bad habit of blurting things out, Magnus decided. "I've _met_ you, haven't I?" Clary pressed, and Magnus noticed that Meliorn looked uncomfortable. "You used to go out with Isabelle Lightwood."

 _Or a rebellious teenage daughter who dates the occasional faerie knight . . ._ Clary's words from her speech earlier came back to Magnus, and he raised a brow, a slight smile playing on his lips. Meliorn was definitely uncomfortable now, try as he might to be hiding it. But Luke stepped forward, frowning.

"Clary, Meliorn is a knight of the Seelie Court," he said logically. "It's very unlikely that he—"

"He was _totally_ dating Isabelle," Simon cut in with a grin. "And she dumped him, too. At least she said she was going to. Tough break man," the vampire commiserated. Though, admittedly, the smile made it hard to believe.

Turning his head, Meliorn glared at Simon. "You," he said disdainfully, _"you_ are the chosen representative of the Night Children?"

"No," the Daylighter said, shaking his head. "I'm just here for her." Turning he pointed at Clary.

"The Night Children," Luke cut in quickly, though Magnus also detected a bit of hesitance. "Aren't participating, Meliorn. I did convey that information to your Lady. They've chosen to—to go their own way."

Meliorn scowled, but Magnus only shrugged. He had already known this, but even if he hadn't . . . he would not have been surprised. Raphael had always been one to play it cautiously when it came to his people. Plus, word on the street what that he was not a big fan of the Daylighter. The faerie knight seemed be having a tougher time with this news, however. Glancing over Luke's shoulder it was a moment before he spoke. "Would that I had known that," he said irritably. "The Night Children are a wise and careful people. Any scheme that draws their ire draws _my_ suspicions."

Luke crossed his arms. "I didn't say anything about ire." And he closed his eyes, drawing a breath as though he were willing himself to be calm. When he opened them, he looked out over the Hall, taking it all in. Magnus followed his gaze, watching as Shadowhunters and Downworlders timidly approached one another. It was truly a sight to behold. Nearby, Jocelyn had stepped forward and captured Meliorn's attention, trying to smooth over the tension and convince him that this would work without the vampires. Meliorn looked panicked.

"I don't think Malachi will pick a partner," Luke said suddenly, gesturing out toward the Consul. He was standing in a corner, his arms crossed as he glared at everyone. "He's just so . . ."

"Stubborn?" Magnus offered. "Bullheaded?" And then he sighed. "Luke, what Clarissa has managed to do is no short feat. I would be lying if I said that I had ever thought to see it in my lifetime. And I'm immortal. But . . . you need to realize that, even now . . . even with their lives on the line . . . some Shadowhunters will never change their view of Downworlders. They would rather choose death than the help of someone they deem beneath them."

Luke nodded. And then taking a dep breath, he launched into his plan on how they were going to catch Valentine off guard. How they would be going to the Brocelind Plains and . . .

And Clary said Alec's name.

Turning, his eyes flashed like a rapidly fired arrow to Clary, who was leaning close to Simon. "—About Jace and who he really is, and Sebastian. They have to know. Tell them to come and talk to me as soon as they can. Please, Simon."

"All right," Simon said softly, sweeping a finger along her cheek. "I'll be back."

With that, Simon took off down the steps, Clary watching him go. Sighing she turned back around in her chair and met Magnus's eyes. She flushed, but she didn't look away. There was something there . . . something she was hiding or knew. And what was this about Jace and Sebastian? Who they really were? Magnus wanted to ask, but knew from one look at her that this was hardly the place or time. Behind him, Luke was still going over plans for the upcoming battle, and Magnus nodded at a barely heard question the pack leader had asked him.

"It's fine," he said, breaking away from Clary's gaze to look back at Luke. "I'm familiar with Brocelind Plain. I'll set the Portal up in the square. One that big won't last very long, though, so you'd better get everyone through it pretty quickly once they're Marked."

Nodding, Luke turned to say something to Jocelyn just as Clary leaned forward in her chair, capturing Magnus's attention once more. "Thanks, by the way," she whispered, looking up at him intently. "For everything you did for my mom."

Despite himself, Magnus grinned. "You didn't think I was going to do it, did you?"

"I wondered," Clary admitted ruefully. "Especially considering that when I saw you at the cottage, you didn't even see fit to tell me that Jace brought Simon through the Portal with him when he came to Alicante. I didn't have a chance to yell at you about that before, but _what_ were you thinking?" she demanded. "That I wouldn't be interested?"

 _On the contrary,_ Magnus thought, raising a brow. "That you'd be _too_ interested," he said flatly. "That you'd drop everything and go rushing off to the Gard. And I needed you to look for the Book of the White."

"That's ruthless," Clary snapped, her emerald eyes flashing angrily. Sitting back, she crossed her arms childishly. "And you're wrong," she continued. "I would have—"

"Done what anyone would have done," Magnus cut her off pointedly, though not without kindness. "What _I_ would have done if it were someone I cared about. I don't blame you, Clary, because you're human, and I know humanity's ways. I've been alive a long time."

Clary frowned, looking away. He wasn't sure, but Magnus thought he might have hurt her feelings, though it had not been his intention. "Like you never do anything stupid because you have feelings," she murmured before he could ask. And then her eyes snapped accusingly to him. "Where's Alec, anyway? Why aren't you off choosing him as your partner right now?"

Magnus flinched at hearing Alec's name. But it wasn't just that. He would love to be Alexander's partner, but . . . "I wouldn't approach him with his parents there. You know that."

Clary frowned, her eyes softening as he propped her chin on her hand. "Doing the right thing because you love someone sucks sometimes."

Truer words had probably been spoken before, but that didn't make Clary's any less true. And Magnus couldn't stop himself from nodding in agreement as his eyes found Alec through the throng of people. "It does, at that."

 _ **#####**_

Alec pushed himself up on his toes as he peered over the heads of those around him. He was hoping to spot a certain warlock. The last time he had checked, Magnus had been on the dais speaking with Clary, but when Alec had looked again, he was gone. Where could he have possibly gone? Alec seriously hoped Magnus hadn't found himself a partner already.

"What are you doing, Alec?" His mom asked annoyed, tugging at the sleeve of her jacket. "Are you looking for someone?"

"Well," Alec said slowly, meeting his mother's gaze. "Yeah." And then he shrugged. "I mean, that was the point of agreeing to all this, wasn't it? One Downworlder—one Shadowhunter."

"Well, there are plenty to choose from," Robert said slowly, looking around uncomfortably. "Is there one in particular you're waiting for?"

Alec's pulse spiked at the question, and he found himself stalling as his parents both looked at him expectantly. Luckily he was saved from answering by Isabelle, who had chosen that moment to show back up. She was holding a small piece of paper in her hand with something drawn on it—the new rune. Alec took it and looked at it. "So this is it, then?" he asked, grateful for the distraction.

"Yeah," Isabelle nodded. "Got it from Luke's sister. You Mark your partner, then yourself."

Maryse, Isabelle, and Robert closed in around Alec and looked down at the paper in his hands. It seemed simple enough, he thought. And then he thought about drawing it on Magnus his heart started pounding.

"Excuse me." It was Simon, who seemed suddenly very nervous as four sets of eyes flashed up to look at him. Hesitating, the vampire looked at Alec's parents as though he were intimidated by them. He probably was. "Alec, Isabelle . . . if I could—"

"Isabelle's not fighting in the battle, vampire," Maryse cut him off quickly, her voice strained as she looked at Simon. Alec could tell she was trying to be polite while also being overly protective of her daughter. "So, if you're looking for a partner—" She thrust her stele out at Simon, who jumped back startled. Alec didn't know what was funnier—the look on his mother's face or the look on Simon's.

 _"What?"_ Simon asked bewildered, looking at Maryse like she was crazy. "I . . ." and his eyes went wide as he looked at the stele and then back up at Maryse. "Oh . . . _oh_ . . . no . . . . I don't want you as a partner!" he said shaking his head. Drawing her shoulders back, Maryse's eyes narrowed and Alec stifled a laugh. It took a second of bewildered glances, but once Simon realized how that had come out, he quickly backtracked. "I mean," he said hastily, "I'm sure you'd be a lovely partner . . . a formidable woman . . ."

 _"Oh my God,"_ Isabelle breathed with her hand over her mouth. She was trying hard not to laugh as Simon's eyes turned beseechingly to Alec. Taking pity on the vampire, Alec stepped forward, "Mom, Simon's not fighting in the battle either."

Blinking, Maryse lowered her stele. "Oh," she said slowly. "And why not?"

"I'm too young," Simon said quickly, looking at Alec gratefully. Alec nodded and returned to scanning the crowd. He thought he had seen Magnus, but now he was pretty sure it was just another Shadowhunter.

"You're a vampire," Robert retorted flatly. "Does your kind actually pay attention to age?"

"Freshly made . . . um, kind of." Simon explained, scratching the back of his head. "I'm only sixteen." And then he smiled. "So yeah, no partner for this underage vampire. Actually, I was hoping that I might speak to Alec and Isabelle alone for a moment."

Looking at Simon, Alec raised a brow. But the vampire merely shook his head. Looking between her children, Maryse's lips grew thin and Alec sighed. "It's all right, mom. He's a friend of ours—a friend of Clary's, too."

"Fine," Maryse said, turning to lead Robert away. "We won't be far if you need us." And Alec watched his parents walk away, but his mom wasn't lying when she said they wouldn't go far. They only made it about ten feet before they stopped.

Isabelle laughed. "I swear, its like she thinks you're going to try to eat us right here in the Hall," she said. And then she looked at Simon, a smirk on her lips. "'Formidable woman', by the way? What the hell was that?"

Simon shook his head. "I—I don't know," he said miserably. "I panicked!"

"Obviously," Alec said, pushing himself to his toes again and scanning the crowd. Seriously, where the hell had Magnus gone? "So what's up. Why the secrecy" He didn't bother to point out that a Hall full of people hardly constituted as privacy.

"Simon?" Izzy pressed when the vampire still hadn't spoken. He was looking around as though he were worried someone might overhear them. "What's wrong?"

"Okay," the vampire began with a nod. "As you know, Clary's mom's awake and here and . . ." Alec raised an impatient brow and Simon shook his head. "Well, Clary just talked to her and found out some things about Jace."

Alec froze at the sound of his _parabatai's_ name. The vampire definitely had his attention now. "What about him?" he asked. "Is he in trouble?"

At that, Simon laughed. "When _isn't_ he?" Alec scowled and Simon's laugh died in his throat. "That was a joke."

"We know, Simon," Izzy said, shooting a reproachful glare at her brother. "Alec's just a little stressed out."

"Right, sorry." Simon said as Alec rolled his eyes and looked back out over the crowd. He had thought he saw Magnus walk by, and his heart skipped a beat. Oh . . . no. That was a faerie. "Anyway," Simon continued. "So the good news is . . . Clary just found out that Jace isn't her brother—Valentine isn't his real father, though he raised him from infancy."

Isabelle's hand flew to her mouth as Alec lowered his stormy eyes slowly. "And what's the bad news?" she asked through her fingers.

"Sebastian," Simon said cautiously, casting a worried glance at Izzy who had frozen upon hearing the name. "Sebastian _is_ her brother. But his real name is Jonathan."

Isabelle looked disgusted. "Valentine gave them the same name?" And then she shook her head as if realizing that that was the least of the issues at the moment.

Alec only stared, however. So all this time Jace had spent worrying and fretting and beating himself up over Valentine, and the bastard hadn't even been his real father?! Alec balled his fist. He needed to find Magnus. He may not be able to kill Valentine, but with Magnus's help he would kill as many of Valentine's demons as he could. For Jace. And then his stomach sank. Jace. He didn't know any of this. He had run off on some suicide mission believing that Clary was his sister . . . that Valentine was father. What if Jace died not knowing—Alec cut the thought off. He couldn't think like that. Jace _would_ come back. Alec had to believe that.

"Alec," Izzy said, pulling him away from his thoughts as she took his hand, "did you hear what Simon said? Jace isn't Valentine's son. He never was."

Of course he had heard him. He had been apart of the conversation, hadn't he? It was then that he realized he hadn't actually said anything since Simon told them. Shaking his head, he stared out at the crowd again—now _that_ was definitely Magnus . . . oh, never mind—werewolf. By the Angel, he felt like a squirrel caught in the road. "So whose son is he?" Alec asked instead.

"Who cares!" Isabelle yelled, throwing her hands up, her exuberance catching Alec's full attention. But just as quickly she was frowning. "Actually," she amended, "that's a good point. Who _is_ his father? Michael Wayland after all?"

Simon shook his head. "Stephen Herondale."

Herondale. As in _Inquisitor_ Herondale? Well, that explained a few things. Alec shook his head. "So he was the Inquisitor's grandson. That must be why she—" Alec cut off as someone walked by in a black coat, his dark hair pulled back, and . . . and not Magnus.

"Why she _what?"_ Isabelle snapped impatiently. "Alec, pay attention. Or at least tell us what you're looking for."

Alec sighed. "Not what," he said, meeting his sisters eyes. "Who. Magnus. I wanted to ask him if he'd be my partner in the battle. But I've no idea where he is." And then he turned to Simon. He had been up on the dais when Magnus had been up there. Maybe Magnus had mentioned where he was going. "Have you seen him?" he asked the vampire.

Surprised, Simon shook his head as he turned to look toward where Clary was still sitting. "He was up on the dais with Clary, but—" Pushing himself to his toes, the vampire shrugged, "—he's not now. He's probably in the crowd somewhere."

 _Thanks for being absolutely no help_ , Alec thought irritably as he met Isabelle's wide eyes. "Really? Are you going to ask him to be your partner?" She asked grinning at him in a sappy way that Alec was pretty sure he never wanted to see his sister look at him again. _Oh, dear God._ He shouldn't have said anything. "It's like a cotillion," she continued, turning to Simon, "this partner thing. Except with killing."

"So, exactly like a cotillion," the vampire retorted.

"Maybe I'll ask you to be _my_ partner, Simon," Isabelle said coyly, taking the vampire's hand.

Alec frowned. Had he been the only one there when Simon had made a fool of himself with their mother as she blatantly stated Isabelle was _not_ fighting? But then, now that he thought of it . . . Isabelle hadn't put up her usual fight at hearing that she would not be allowed to join the battle. Alec wouldn't put it past her to try sneaking into the battle anyway. No. Alec wouldn't allow it. "Isabelle," he said slowly, firmly. "You don't need a partner, because you're not fighting. You're too young. And if you even think about it, I'll kill you. Wait—" Jerking his head up, he tried to focus on the person he had seen from the corner of his eye. "—is that Magnus?"

Isabelle snorted and rolled her eyes, and Alec was acutely aware of how pathetic he probably sounded. "Alec, that's a werewolf. A _girl_ werewolf. In fact, it's what's-her-name. May."

"Maia," Simon corrected as he saw where they were looking.

Alec frowned. Now that the girl had turned, he knew how wrong he had been. The last time he had seen Maia had been after the battle on the East River. She looked much better now than she had back then. She was wearing brown leather pants that were several shades darker than her skin, and a tight black t-shirt that said something about killing. Sensing three sets of eyes on her, the werewolf girl turned and smiled at them. Alec smiled back politely. But then . . .

"There's Magnus!" he said, probably much more excitedly than he should have. But he was sure of it this time. Before Simon or Isabelle could respond, Alec took off.

His heart was pounding, but he would not lose Magnus again. It was like time had slowed down. He could only see Magnus—like he was a beacon that was calling to him. Alec was only vaguely aware of the few glares he got as he unceremoniously pushed past people in his eagerness. And he might have been called a name or two, he wasn't sure. He only saw Magnus. The warlock had been so patient with him. So incredibly patient. And gentle. He had known how inexperienced Alec had been. Knew about his mixed feeling toward Jace. And still . . . he had agreed to go out with him. Pushing forward, Alec thought of their first date. He thought of kissing him on the couch and laying with him in his bed. He had been so nervous but Magnus . . . he had been so gentle. Alec wanted it again. He wanted all of it. He wanted Magnus.

And then he was there, standing behind Magnus, and everything sped back up.

"Magnus," he breathed, his chest heaving. In front of him, Magnus froze at hearing his name. He had been talking to someone Alec only just recognized as he turned slowly to look at him.

"Alexander?"

"Magnus, be my partner," Alec blurted out, pushing his hand through his hair.

Magnus opened his mouth slowly, but his face was hard to read. "Alexander, I . . ."

"I want you, Magnus," Alec pressed, his heart jack hammering. "I mean, I want to be with you. You're amazing and incredible and I am _so_ stupid for ever thinking—"

"Alec . . ." Magnus cut him off hesitantly, his beautiful cat eyes wide as he cast a glance to those around them.

But Alec didn't care who heard. Let them hear. Shaking his head, he wanted to scream. His thoughts were jumbled. He sucked at words. But he had to try. "I don't want you to not be in my life," he said, meeting Magnus's eyes. Eyes that were his home now. And then the words were coming out in a rush. "I . . . I don't feel whole when you're not around. All I do is think abut you. You're in my head . . . all the time. And I know I told you I'd introduce you to my parents and I haven't yet, but I will. You've been patient with me, Magnus, so patient. You don't have to be patient anymore. I'm here. If—if you'll have me."

"Alexander," Magnus said slowly, his eyes soft. "Yes, I'll be your partner."

Alec blinked, his blood pounding through his veins, his stomach doing flips. And then he was smiling. Really smiling. "You will?"

Magnus rolled his eyes, but he was smiling too. "I'd have said yes to no one else."

"Magnus, I lo—" Alec began but was cut off when Magnus held out his hand in that moment. Alec stared at the bronze arm for only a second before nodding. "Right." Reaching into the pocket of his gear he pulled out the stele he had gotten from Isabelle. His had suspiciously disappeared at the same time that Jace had left. Trembling, Alec took Magnus's hand, his heart skittering as their fingers brushed against each other gently, sending electric currants shooting through Alec's body. He was just about to press the stele to Magnus's skin, when he hesitated. "Are—are you sure?" he asked, looking up at the beautiful man before him. Smiling, Magnus nodded.

Taking a breath, Alec pressed his stele to Magnus's palm. Jace had always said he had a heavy hand, and Alec tried to be mindful of that as he drew. It only took seconds, and when he was done, Magnus stared at the Mark on his skin with wonder. Alec couldn't begin to imagine what Magnus was feeling in that moment—having been Marked so many times, it had lost all meaning to him. But to someone who had never been Marked before? Alec tried not to stare, but he couldn't help it. This was new to him, Alec realized as Magnus continued to stare at the rune. Magnus may have been alive a long time, but what Alec had done by Marking him . . . it was something no one else had ever done. Magnus's amazement and wonder were breathtaking.

Magnus was breathtaking.

"You're beautiful," Alec breathed, his voice low.

Magnus's eyes shot up, looking at Alec. Really looking at him. And Alec swallowed hard as it finally hit him. Magnus had always seen Alec as he was—for who he was. Magnus had never cared that Alec wasn't good with words or emotions. He had not cared about Alec's inexperience or lack of seductive qualities. Magnus had only ever wanted Alec as he was—himself.

Darting his hands forward, Alec grabbed Magnus's face. "I love you."

And then, right there in front of everyone, Alec pressed his mouth against Magnus's soft lips. He could feel Magnus stiffen with surprise under his touch, but he didn't push him away. Taking comfort in that, Alec kissed him harder—held him tighter. He wanted Magnus to feel what he felt. He wanted to make sure that he knew Alec was serious this time. Slowly, Magnus relaxed under his grip, his hand's tracing tenderly up Alec's arms, and Alec smiled against lips. On some level, he knew people were staring—whispering. But Alec didn't care anymore. He didn't care who saw, or what people might think. He was done pretending not to be in love. Because he was. He was so stupidly and happily in love and anyone who didn't like it would just have to get over it. Magnus' was the only opinion he cared about.

Alec was done trying to pretend to be something he wasn't.

And he refused to be afraid of who he was anymore.

And now everyone knew it.

 _ **#####**_

Luke stood there looking out over the crowd. He was trying hard not to stare at his hand, but he was finding it hard. It had been a long time since he had been Marked. A very long time. He had not thought he would ever see the Angel's ink on his skin again, and yet, there it was, gleaming up at him every time he lifted his hand.

It had hurt, of course. Not that he had shown it. Jocelyn had tried to be gentle but it had been years since she had used a stele, and it had shown.

And yet still . . . his skin had held the Mark. It shouldn't have, but it did.

And now other Downworlders were out there, receiving Marks of their own. "Amazing isn't it?" Luke breathed with awe, unable to stop himself. "Shadowhunters and Downworlders, mingling together in the same room. Working together." He shook his head. Just saying it wasn't enough. How could he possibly tell Clary—tell Jocelyn—what he was feeling? Though admittedly, Jocelyn might understand. She had not worn a rune in quite some time either. But choosing not to wear a rune and not being allowed to wear a rune, were two different things.

Turning back to the crowed, he watched as Maryse traded Marks with a regal wintergreen faerie whose aquamarine hair seemed to ripple even though there was no breeze. Nearby, Robert was nervously Marking a warlock with electric blue hair. Literally. The warlocks hair was _literally_ rippling with electric sparks. Luke stifled a laugh. It seemed everyone was pairing off now. Jia was standing with one of Luke's pack members, smiling and talking animatedly, while her husband, Patrick, was nearby with a werewolf from the Brocelind pack. It looked like he was going over different fighting stances and the werewolf was watching and mimicking the moves with surprising grace.

Beaming, Luke turned back toward the center of the dais just in time to see Clary cross her arms stubbornly.

"I'm not a child," she snapped irritably.

Jocelyn sighed. "I know you're not, but you're too young to fight. And even if you weren't, you've never been trained."

But Clary was already shaking her head. "I don't want to sit here and do nothing." And Luke blinked. Nothing? She thought she was doing—

 _"Nothing?"_ Jocelyn repeated out loud, sounding just as shocked by the word as Luke had felt. "Clary, none of this would be happening if it wasn't for you. We wouldn't even had a chance to fight if it wasn't for you. I'm so proud of you. I just wanted to tell you that even though Luke and I will be gone, we'll be coming back. Everything's going to be fine."

Clary turned, looking at Jocelyn with eyes that were much older than they should have been at sixteen. "Mom, don't lie."

Taking a breath, Jocelyn's green eyes flashed up to Luke as if asking for help and sending his pulse racing. Nodding he took a step forward. He had told Jocelyn that Clary knew the dangers of what was going on. Now was no different. But Luke had also been there to see as Clary first began navigating through the shadow world. He had been there to help her. This was still all new to Jocelyn. She had not gotten used to seeing her daughter moving so actively through the world she had spent fifteen years trying to hide.

And then Clary tensed up, her eyes shooting past Jocelyn. Turning to see where she was looking, Luke froze. Raphael was moving soundlessly through the crowd toward the dais. So the vampires had come? This was great! Taking a step forward, Luke greeted the vampire at the top of the dais. The vampire was dressed plainly, a white button up shirt and black slacks, his dark hair combed back. Even though they had met before, it was still disconcerting to Luke at just how young Raphael looked. He must not have been more than fifteen when he had been turned. He could have been a choir boy with those innocent features, though Luke knew the vampire was anything but. All the same, the boy was here. And that counted for something, right?

"Raphael," Luke smiled, the relief clear in his voice. "I didn't think you were coming. Have the Night Children reconsidered joining us in fighting Valentine? There's still a Council seat open for you, if you'd like to take it." And he held out his hand.

But Raphael was already shaking his head, and he did not take Luke's hand. "I cannot shake hands with you, werewolf." Lowering his hand slowly, Luke couldn't hide his offense at the vampires words. Weren't they beyond the feud now? Wasn't that why he was here in the first place? Seeing Luke's face, Raphael smiled. "I am projection," he explained, raising his hand. "I can touch nothing."

Luke blinked. Now that he was really looking, he could see the slight transparency of the vampire, and his initial offense at being snubbed disappeared. It was replaced with confusion. "But—" Looking up at the glass roof, he could see the moon floating lazily above. The sun was not out . . . the vampire could not be hurt. Shaking his head, Luke liked back down at the boy. "Why—" But then, did it matter? He was here. That's what counted. "Well, I'm glad you're here, however you choose to appear."

But Raphael shook his head, as though he didn't agree with the sentiment. For just a second, his eyes lingered on Clary, making Luke tense up. It was a look he didn't like and it lingered just a little too long. But before he could comment on it, Raphael was already looking away, his gaze now fixing on Jocelyn—which Luke didn't find any better. Seeing her, Raphael's smile grew wider. "You," he said, with barely contained surprise. "Valentine's wife—" Luke stomach plummeted, "—Other's of my kind, who fought with you at the uprising, told me of you. I admit I never thought I would see you myself."

Stepping forward, Jocelyn stopped next to Luke and inclined her head politely at Raphael. "Many of the Night Children fought bravely then." She said diplomatically, though Luke could see how tense she actually was. "Does your presence here indicate that we might fight alongside each other once again?

"I hope so," Raphael nodded, his eyes sweeping up to Luke and then to Clary before resting back on Jocelyn. "We only have one requirement, one simple—and small—request. If that is honored, the Night Children of many lands will happily go to battle at your side."

"The Council seat," Luke surmised. Which was strange given that he had just said they had saved him a seat on the Council. But the Night Children were nothing if not thorough. "Of course—it can be formalized, the documents drawn up within the hour—"

 _"Not_ the Council seat," Raphael said slowly, cutting Luke off. "Something else."

"Something—else?" Luke echoed with a frown. What else could they possibly want? Blinking, Luke took a breath, gathering himself. "What is it?" he asked with a jerk of his head. "I assure you, if it's in our power—"

"Oh, it is," Raphael smiled, pleased. It was a smile that put Luke on edge. "In fact it is something that is within the walls of this Hall as we speak," he continued, gesturing grandly out toward the crowd. And then the vampire's coal black eyes met Luke's. "It is the boy Simon that we want. It is the Daylighter."

And Clary shot to her feet "No!" But Raphael only looked at her as though she were boring him, before sweeping his gaze back to Luke. But Clary was already pressing forward. "You're not touching him, you dirty stupid blood sucking—"

"Clary," Luke placed a calming hand on her shoulder before turning to look at Raphael. Was he seriously asking for Simon? This had to be a joke. "I'm sorry, but I must not have heard you correctly."

"I assure you, that you did," Raphael disagreed.

At his words, Jocelyn took an almost imperceptible step forward, her hand on the blade hanging from her weapons belt. And Luke's heart skipped a beat. It had been a long time since he had seen Jocelyn look this . . . deadly. But he also knew that she could use that blade with the same ease that she used one of her paint brushes. Not that it would do any good, given that the vampire was projection. All the same, now was definitely not the time for a Shadowhunter to be seen trying to decapitate a Downworlder—projection or not. Taking a quick step forward, cutting her off, Luke threw his hands up.

"Why don't we all just calm down for a second," he said, throwing Jocelyn a cautious glance before resting his gaze back on the vampire. "Raphael, I don't know what you were thinking coming here and asking for Simon, but it's out of the question. I can't believe you'd even ask."

"And I can't believe you would refuse," Raphael said cooly. "It is such a small thing."

"It's not a _thing."_ Clary snapped angrily, her hands balled into fists. "It's Simon. He's a _person."_

"He's a vampire," Raphael countered almost as if her were bored. "Which you seem to keep forgetting."

"Aren't you a vampire as well?" Jocelyn interjected, her voice an arctic blade. "Are you saying _your_ life has no worth?"

Raphael let out a low laugh as though the question were a ridiculous one. "My life has great worth," he said pointedly, "being, unlike yours, eternal. There is no end to what I might accomplish, while there is a clear end where you are concerned. But that is not the issue. He is a vampire, one of my own, and I am asking for him back."

"You can't have him _back,"_ Clary snapped angrily. "You never had him in the first place. You were never even interested in him either, till you found out he could walk around in the daylight—"

"Possibly," Raphael shrugged. "But not for the reason you think." Cocking his head, his eyes pierced into Clary's—cruel and calculating. It set Luke's teeth on edge. "No vampire should have the power he has," he said quietly. "Just as no Shadowhunter should have the power that you and your brother do." And then he was looking at Luke again. "For years we have been told that we are wrong and unnatural," Raphael continued. "But this— _this_ is unnatural."

"Raphael," Luke said carefully, but the warning in his tone was clear. "I don't know what you were hoping for. But there's no chance we'll let you hurt Simon."

Raphael raised a brow. "But you will let Valentine and his army of demons hurt all these people, your allies," he said, sweeping an arm out toward the sea of people around them. "You will let them risk their lives at their own discretion but won't give Simon the same choice? Perhaps he would make a different one than you will." Lowering his arm, he looked Luke squarely in the eyes, his cherub face an expressionless mask. "You know we will not fight with you otherwise. The Night Children will have no part in this day."

"Then have no part in it," Luke said, crossing his arms—his eyes flat and deadly. "I won't buy your cooperation with an innocent life. I'm not Valentine."

Raphael spun on Jocelyn. "What about you, Shadowhunter? Are you going to let this werewolf decide what is best for your people?"

Luke balled his fists, but kept his arms crossed tightly as Jocelyn took a breath. She was looking at Raphael as though he were something both dangerous and disgusting. Something to be stepped on. "If you lay one hand on Simon, vampire, I'll have you chopped into tiny pieces and fed to my cat. Understand?"

 _And if not her cat, her wolf,_ Luke thought viciously.

Raphael's face tightened as he looked between the three of them. "Very well," he said slowly, almost as though it were a threat. "When you lie dying on the Brocelind Plain, you may ask yourself whether one life was truly worth so many." And with that he vanished.

Letting out a breath, Luke turned to Clary who was shaking her head, her eyes wide. "We can't let him have him," she said, spinning to look at Jocelyn. "Mom, he cant—"

"Clary, it's okay. He's not getting Simon," Luke said softly, taking her shoulders lightly. Looking up, he met Jocelyn's worried eyes.

 _ **#####**_

Even through the black gear, the cavern felt cool as Jonathan and Valentine stepped out into the center of it. Jonathan ignored it. They had been discussing the upcoming battle when his father had turned at the sound of his raven, Hugin, approaching. Jonathan watch expressionlessly as the bird landed on Valentine's should, nuzzling his cheek. Reaching up, Valentine petted it. Jonathan knew they were communicating—some experiment or spell long again had allowed it, but he had never been privy to the conversations. With a twitch of agitation at being left out of whatever silent conversation they were having, Jonathan raised a brow just as Hugin raised his wings and took off. He watched the black bird spiral upward before shooting over a large boulder and—Jonathan's eyes narrowed. They were not alone. He could hear the erratic pounding of a heart. And he knew exactly who it belonged to.

 _Well this should be interesting._

"Any word from Alicante?" Jonathan asked, turning his dark gaze back to his father. He would not mention their unseen guest.

"Nothing as comprehensible as I would like," Valentine said calmly, his voice echoing softly. "One thing is certain. The Clave is allying itself with Lucian's force of Downworlders."

Jonathan's brows furrowed. "But Malachi said—"

"Malachi has failed," his father cut him off brusquely.

Cocking his head, Jonathan blinked. Something was wrong. Moving forward, he placed a hand on his father's shoulder. "Are you upset?" he asked with concern.

But Valentine only sighed. "The Clave is further gone than I had thought. I knew the Lightwoods were corrupted beyond hope, and that sort of corruption is contagious. It's why I tried to keep them from entering Idris," he said, referring to the Forsaken he had sent to the Institute. "But for the rest to have so easily had their minds filled with Lucian's poison, when he's not even Nephilim . . ." Valentine trailed off, shaking his head. The disgust in his eyes was palpable, and Jonathan squeezed his fathers shoulder—an intended gesture of comfort. "I am disappointed," Valentine said after a while. "I thought they would see reason. I would have preferred not to end things this way."

But Jonathan only smiled. This was exactly how things should end. "I don't agree," he said, lowering his hand. "Think of them, ready to do battle, riding out to Glory, only to find that none of it matters. That their gesture is futile. Think of the looks on their faces." _Think of the blood._ The thought broadened his smile.

"Jonathan." His father's tone was reproachful. It was the same tone he took when having to explain why something Jonathan had done was wrong. "This is ugly necessity, nothing to take delight in." But the only thing Jonathan heard was the spike in the nearby heartbeat. And that was something he did take delight in.

Shaking his head, Jonathan stared at his father nonplussed. "Isn't it better if I enjoy what I'm doing?" And then he grinned. "I certainly enjoyed myself in Alicante. The Lightwoods were better company than you led me to believe, especially that Isabelle. We certainly parted on a high note," he said coyly, remembering how she had looked after he had struck her. Remembering how her hair had fanned out around her head as the blood pooled on the floor. "And as for Clary—" At that, Jonathan swallowed hard. He would be lying if he said she had not disappointed him. He had had such high hopes for his sister. But . . . no. "She wasn't at all like I thought she'd be," he sulked. "She wasn't anything like me."

"There is no one else in the world like you, Jonathan," Valentine said flatly. "And as for Clary, she has always been exactly like her mother."

Jonathan cocked his head at his father. It was an odd statement, given that Valentine didn't really know Clary. She was the only innocent player in all this as far as Jonathan was concerned. Jocelyn had made her choice when she chose to leave. But Clary . . . "She won't admit what she really wants," he darkly. "Not yet." And then he cast a covert glance up toward the large boulder. "But she'll come around."

"What do you mean, come around?" Valentine asked, his brow arched.

And Jonathan blinked expressionlessly, meeting his fathers eyes. _To me, of course._ And the thought brought a smile to his face, his teeth flashing white in the dim cavern. "Oh, you know," Jonathan said, unable to hide his amusement as the pounding of the nearby heart began to jackhammer. "To our side. I can't wait. Tricking her was the most fun I've had in ages."

"You weren't supposed to be having fun," Valentine said crossly. "You were supposed to be finding out what it was she was looking for. And when she did find it—without you, I might add," Valentine continued with a quiet anger that sent Jonathan's jaw locking. "You let her give it to a warlock. And then you failed to bring her with you when you left, despite the threat she poses to us. Not exactly a glorious success, Jonathan."

His father was mad, but Jonathan only shook his head. "I _tried_ to bring her with me," he insisted. "They wouldn't let her out of their sight, and I couldn't exactly kidnap her in the Accords Hall." But there was more to it than that. Something he couldn't admit. He wanted Clary to _want_ to come with him. He wanted her to _choose_ him. It was an desire that confused Jonathan, given that he had never cared about that kind of thing before. "Besides," he said, expelling a breath. "I told you, she doesn't have any idea how to use that rune power of hers. She's to naive to pose any danger—"

"Whatever the Clave is planning now, she's at the center of it," Valentine snapped, whirling on his son. "Hugin says as much." And Jonathan stood stone still in the face of his fathers anger, waiting for his punishment. But no punishment came. His father only sighed. "He saw her there on the dais in the Accords Hall. If she can show the Clave her power . . ."

"Then they'll fight," Jonathan finished. "Which is what we want, isn't it? Clary doesn't matter. Its the battle that matters."

Valentine raised a curious brow toward his son. And when he spoke, it was a whisper. "You underestimate her, I think."

Jonathan swallowed. His father was wrong. He just didn't know Clary. "I was watching her," he said slowly. Carefully. "If her power was as unlimited as you seem to think, she could have used it to get her little vampire friend out of his prison—or save that fool Hodge when he was dying—"

"Power doesn't have to be unlimited to be deadly," Valentine cut him off. "And as for Hodge, perhaps you might show a bit more reserve regarding his death, since you were the one who killed him."

Jonathan rolled his eyes. "He was about to tell them about the Angel. I _had_ to."

"You wanted to," Valentine corrected flatly. "You always do." And Jonathan said nothing to that. Because he wasn't wrong. Instead he watched as his father pulled his gloves out of his pocket and slipped them on. Valentine looked up at his son. "Perhaps he would have told them. Perhaps not. All those years he looked after Jace—" Jonathan's stomach twisted irritably, "—in the Institute and must have wondered what it was he was raising. Hodge was one of the few who knew there was more than one boy. I knew he wouldn't betray me—he was too much of a coward for that."

"Who cares what he thought," Jonathan said dismissively, waving his hand as though swatting away particularly annoying fly. "He's dead, and good riddance." And then he smiled, watching as his father flexed his fingers inside his gloves. "Are you going to the lake now?"

"Yes," Valentine said, lowering his hand and looking at his son. "You're clear on what must be done?" he asked jerking his head toward the sword strapped to Jonathan's side. "Use that. It's not the Mortal Sword, but its alliance is sufficiently demonic for this purpose."

"I can't go to the lake with you?" Jonathan asked surprised, the complaint clear in his tone. "Can't we just release the army now?"

But Valentine was already shaking his head. "It's not midnight yet. I said I would give them until midnight. They may yet change their minds."

"They're not going to—"

"I gave my word. I'll stand by it," Valentine said firmly, his voice reverberating off the stone walls. It was a tone of finality that Jonathan was all too familiar with. Closing his mouth slowly, Jonathan's jaw locked. "If you hear nothing from Malachi by midnight, open the gate," Valentine continued when Jonathan continued to say nothing. And then he sighed impatiently. "I need you to do this Jonathan. I can't wait here for midnight; it'll take me nearly an hour to get to the lake through the tunnels, and I have no intention of letting the battle drag on very long. Future generations must know how quickly the Clave lost, and how decisive our victory was."

Jonathan blinked before forcing a false wistful smile to his lips. "It's just that I'll be sorry to miss the summoning. I'd like to be there when you do it," he said carefully, his eyes flashing.

Reaching up, Valentine cupped Jonathan's face—the only affectionate gesture he had ever shown him. And yet his father's eyes showed no love for the boy in front of him. They were cold and calculating. Just like his son's. And they told him that if he messed this up, his punishment would be severe.

Turning, Jonathan watched as Valentine headed back down the tunnel they had come from. He had only made it a few steps before he turned around. "Jonathan," he called out softly. "You will look upon the Angel's face someday. After all, you will inherit the Mortal Instruments once I am gone. Perhaps one day you, too, will summon Raziel."

Jonathan swallowed hard. "I'd like that," he said without emotion. And then he watched as his father left. Listened as the echo of his footsteps disappeared down one of the many tunnel passages. And Jonathan raised a brow, his lips pulling back into a sneer. "I'd like it very much," he whispered. "I'd like to spit in that bastards face." And then he spun, his eyes fixing firmly on the boulder. "You might as well come out, Jace," he called. "I know you're here."

There was a pause, a hurried shuffling, and then Jonathan watched as Jace shot to his feet and bolted back down one of the side tunnels. Rolling his eyes, Jonathan shot forward, coming to a stop just in front of Jace, who skidded to a stop looking shocked. Holding out his arms wide, his fingers grazing lazily along the cool stone, Jonathan took a step toward Jace. The boy was wearing mourning clothes, the runes speaking of loss. He would loss a lot more by the time Jonathan was done. He hated the boy in front of him. And he would make him suffer.

"Really?" he asked cynically. "You didn't _actually_ think you were faster than me, did you?"

Jace took a step backward, his expression much calmer than the heart pounding in his chest. "Since I'm better than you in every other conceivable way, it did stand to reason."

 _Your arrogance will get you killed._ And Jonathan smiled, taking pleasure in the fact that he would be the one to end his life. "I could hear your heart beating," he sad out loud. And then he cocked his head curiously. "When you were watching me with Valentine, did it bother you?"

Jace raised his brows. "That you seem to be dating my dad?" he asked with a shrug. "You're a little young for him to be honest."

Jonathan nearly choked. _"What?"_ he spit out, giving Jace a startled look. And then he took a breath, shaking his head and quickly recomposed himself—irritated that Jace had caught him off guard at all. "I wondered about you sometimes," Jonathan continued as though Jace had not spoken, taking another step forward. "There seemed to be something to you, on occasion, something behind those yellow eyes of yours. A flash of intelligence, unlike the rest of your mud-stupid adoptive family. But I suppose it was only a pose, an attitude. You're as foolish as the rest, despite your decade of good upbringing."

Jace scoffed, taking another step back. "What do _you_ know about my upbringing."

"More than you might think," Jonathan replied, bringing his hands back down to his sides as he took another step forward. "The same man who brought you up, brought me up. Only—" Jonathan grinned cruelly, "—he didn't tire of me after the first ten years."

Jace stopped moving, and Jonathan followed suit. "What do you mean," he whispered, his eyes wide. But Jonathan said nothing. He only stood there—waiting for the stupid boy to realize what he was saying. Waiting for it to connect. And slowly it did. Jonathan could see the shocked understanding pass through Jace's eyes as he took in Jonathan's features. He could hear the erratic beating of Jace's heart. "You," he breathed roughly. "Valentine's your father. You're my brother."

 _And you really are an idiot._

Darting forward, Jonathan placed himself behind Jace, his arms wrapping around the boys shoulders, holding him in place. He could feel the tenseness in Jace's body, the shock of having seen Jonathan move so fast. Jonathan smiled. "Hail and farewell, my brother," he hissed.

And before Jace could do more than let out a breath, Jonathan brought his arms up to Jace's throat, squeezing hard. Surprised, Jace hands up shot up, his legs kicking out as he tried hard to break Jonathan's hold—grasping and clawing at the arms that restricting his airway. But his effort was pointless.

Jace fell unconscious in Jonathan's arms.

 _ **#####**_

Simon stood in the shadow of the pillar for a long time, unable to move. He knew what he needed to do, but he also didn't know if he could do it. He knew that he was supposed to die someday, but he never thought that someday would be tonight. But then again, it didn't have to be, did it? Luke had said no. Clary had said no. Jocelyn had _definitely_ said no. Hell, he'd never been so terrified of Clary's mom as he had been when she'd been threatening Raphael. Not even when she had caught them ditching school to play the new _World of Warcraft_ that had been released. And she had been terrifying then.

But Simon also knew that they had only said no due to their personal attachment to him. They had known him since . . . forever. Their decision was biased and skewed. And as much as he hated the idea of actually agreeing with Raphael, he found he had to. Simon's life really _wasn't_ worth more than everyone here—no matter how much his best friend would disagree. And Simon sighed. He would have to turn himself over somehow. He had to ensure the Clave the help of the Night Children. Had to ensure that the Night Children took their seat on the Council. Not that he knew where Raphael was staying. He highly doubted there was a Hotel Dumort in Idris. Maybe Maia knew and could take him. But still, he'd rather not go without a back up plan. There had to be something he could do. Something that ensured the help of Raphael and his minions while at the same time ensuring that Simon didn't die. Because he very much did not want to die. Well . . . die with any sort of permanence, anyway.

Sighing he looked across the room and watched as a short blonde Shadowhunter exchanged Marks with a very large werewolf. The difference between them was almost comical. And yet, Simon couldn't look away. Downworlders and mundanes couldn't carry Marks. That had been something made clear to him back when he had been a mundane. They would kill Downworlders, and if the mundane was lucky, it would kill them too. If they were unlucky, they would become Forsaken. And yet, here they were . . . Downworlders getting Marked by Shadowhunters. With a rune Clary had created. If nothing else, it proved that the rules weren't set in stone after all. To bad Cain didn't know that when he got Marked. Maybe he could have gotten out of it.

Simon blinked.

Cain had been human when he had been Marked. Or so the bible said. Granted Cain had also been Marked by . . . Simon shook his head. Had that been the first Mark? And what was it that had happened? How did the curse go? _Whoever kills Cain shall suffer sevenfold vengeance._ Looking up, Simon watched as the large werewolf looked at the Mark on his skin with curiosity. The rules were being broken. Could this one? Would it actually be possible? He guessed there was only one way to find out.

But first he needed to talk to Maia.

Darting around the corner, he found the wolf girl not far. Grabbing her attention, Simon gave her a very watered down version of the help he needed. He knew she would never agree to it if she knew the full truth. And while she wasn't exactly thrilled with the bits he _did_ tell her, she reluctantly agreed and promised not to go far. Once that was taken care of, Simon made his way back to the pillar behind the dais just in time to hear Clary talking to her mom.

"I'm just wondering where Simon is," she was saying, getting to her feet. "I'm going to go get him."

Well, that was convenient. At her words however, Jocelyn moved forward, wringing her hands together as she looked out nervously over the crowd. "Down there?"

But Clary only rolled her eyes. "I'll be fine," she said, pushing herself gingerly between her mother and Luke. "I'll be right back."

Turning around the pillar, Simon kept to the shadows as he followed his friend. Darting from one column to the next, he was careful to keep himself from being seen. He didn't want to be seen. And he found he was surprisingly good at it, though the thinning of the crowd might have helped. Most of the crowd had headed outside where Magnus had opened the Portal. All the same, Simon followed her for a bit, waiting and hoping she would get close enough to one of the pillars. At one point she stopped, sighed, and switched tracks, heading toward the West side of the Hall.

Keeping up, Simon watched as Clary finally passed by a pillar. Darting his hands out, Simon grabbed her and pulled her around it. _"Don't_ scream, okay?" he said quickly, seeing her startled face. "It's just me."

Blinking, Clary frowned. "Of course I'm not going to scream. Don't be ridiculous." And then she looked around, noticing they were quite alone. Looking back up at Simon, she raised her brows. "But what's with the James Bond spy stuff? I was coming to find you anyway."

"I know," said Simon. "I've been waiting for you to come down off the dais." He decided to leave out the part where he had followed her. Even now, he was sure that might constitute a bit of a creep factor. "I wanted to talk to you where no one else could hear us." Licking his lips nervously, Simon swallowed. _Okay, here it goes . . ._ "I heard what Raphael said. What he wanted."

At his words, Simon could hear Clary's heart speed up as her shoulder sagged. "Oh, Simon," she said miserably. "Look, nothing happened. Luke sent him away—"

"Maybe he shouldn't have," Simon cut in, shaking his head. "Maybe he should have given Raphael what he wanted."

Clary jerked back like she had been hit. "You mean _you?_ Don't be stupid. There's no way—"

"There _is_ a way," Simon insisted, gripping her arms tighter. "I want Luke to tell Raphael that the deal is on. Or I'll tell him myself."

"I know what you're doing," Clary said, looking up at him sadly. "And I respect it and I admire you for it, but you don't have to do it, Simon, you don't have to. What Raphael is asking for is wrong, and nobody will judge you for not sacrificing yourself for a war that isn't yours to fight."

"But it's just that," Simon said with frustration. Letting go of Clary, he pushed his hands roughly through his hair. "What Raphael said was right. I am a vampire, and you keep forgetting it. Or maybe you just want to forget. But I'm a Downworlder and you're a Shadowhunter, and this fight is both of ours."

Clary shook her head, her eyes blazing. "You're not like them—"

"I _am_ one of them," Simon pressed as patiently as he could. "And I always will be." She needed to understand this. Understand what he was saying. He loved her and she would always be his best friend but this wasn't her decision. And really, it wasn't his either. There was more at play here than just the two of them. "If the Downworlders fight this war with the Shadowhunters, without the participation of Raphael's people, then there will be no Council seat for the Night Children. They won't be a part of the world Luke's trying to create, a world where Shadowhunters and Downworlders work together. Are together. The vampires will be shut out of that. They'll be the enemies of the Shadowhunters. _I'll_ be your enemy."

"I could never be your enemy," Clary breathed defensively. She was looking at Simon as though he was speaking gibberish.

"It would kill me," Simon said, taking her arms again. "But I can't help anything by standing back and pretending I'm not part of this. And I'm not asking your permission. I would like your help. But if you won't give it to me, I'll get Maia to take me to the vampire camp anyway, and I'll give myself up to Raphael. Do you understand?"

Clary blinked, staring at him in shock. Twice she opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Finally she licked her lip, her eyes shining. "What can I do," her whispered voice trembling, "to help you?"

Simon took a breath. If his heart could beat, it'd have flown out of his chest. "I need you to give me the Mark of Cain," he blurted out. It was not quite the way he intended to start that—especially after seeing the way the blood drained from Clary's face. Shaking his head, Simon when on hastily. "I figured if anyone could do it, it'd be you. And . . . and I was thinking—Cain was human and he bore the Mark without going all . . . Forsaken-y, Right? So maybe I can, too. Think of it as a gift," He added when Clary's head began to shake. "Cause you know . . . it might save me with the whole, 'sevenfold' thing. So um . . . what do you think?"

"No." Clary hadn't even hesitated. "That's a crazy idea, Simon. It's not a gift; it's a punishment—"

"Maybe not for me," Simon said, glancing out at the crowd. Maia was standing where he had left her, watching them. Clary noticed too. Turning his eyes slowly back to his best friend, Simon swallowed hard. "It's better than the alternative, Clary."

Clary was shaking her head again, her eyes swimming and her lips trembling. "No . . ."

And Simon smiled, putting on a brave face for his best friend. "It might not hurt me at all. I mean, I've already been punished, right? I already can't go into a church, a synagogue, I can't say—" Simon took a frustrated breath. "I can't say holy names. I can't get older, I'm already shut out from normal life. Maybe this won't change anything."

"But maybe it will," Clary whispered, her green eyes wide and terrified.

But Simon had made up his mind. Sliding his hands down her arms, he reached around to Clary's side and removed the stele from her belt. Meeting her eyes, he held it out in front of him, pleading with her to take it. "Clary," he said softly when she didn't move. "Do this for me. Please."

Nodding, Clary took a shuddering breath as she wrapped her fingers around the stele. Reaching up, she brushed Simon's hair back from his forehead and hesitated only a minute. Simon saw her eyes go blank—similar to the times she would get lost in her own thoughts. But then she was pressing the stele to his skin. And Simon clenched his fists. It felt like it was burning him—like it was leaving charred skin behind with every curve of the stele. But he hadn't died or gone crazy though, so . . . that was a plus. Before he knew it, she was done. Taking a step back, Clary blinked up at him and Simon reached up tenderly touching his forehead. It was weird, it was smooth but at the same time it felt like decades old scare tissue.

"I can feel it," he breathed, looking at Clary in awe. "Like a burn."

"I don't know what will happen," Clary whispered, cupping her mouth with worry. "I don't know what long-term side effects it'll have."

Well, if it kept Raphael from killing him, then it would be worth it. And Simon lips ticked up into a half smile at the thought as he reached up to touch Clary's cheek gently. "Let's hope we get a chance to find out."

* * *

 _ **AN:** So a lot of POV's here, and one I was really nervous writing. So I hope you guys like it! Thank you again to all my amazing readers! And as always, **Please Review!**_


	19. What Lies Beneath

**~Chapter Eighteen~  
What Lies Beneath  
**

This was Valentine's Angel boy? This pathetic excuse for a Shadowhunter and son? Jonathan looked down at Jace with disgust. The boy was unconscious. Jonathan hadn't killed him, though he had thought about it. He was still thinking about it. It was the plan, after all. But Jonathan wanted to play first—something his father was always quick to point out as though it were a bad thing. Jonathan never did understand why enjoying your victory was considered crude. Rolling his eyes, Jonathan pushed the unconscious boy upright and bound his hands behind his back with some rope.

Jace began coughing.

"Awake little brother?" Jonathan grinned, kneeling in front of him. And then he cocked his head curiously as he watched Jace slowly open his eyes. "Good," he continued when Jace said nothing. "I was afraid for a moment that I'd killed you a bit too early."

Turning his head, Jace spit blood onto the ground before turning an eye back up toward Jonathan. "Waiting for a special occasion to kill me?" He asked flatly. "Christmas is coming."

Jonathan smirked. "You have a smart mouth," he mused. "You didn't learn that from Valentine." Nor did the boy look anything like Valentine with his golden hair and golden eyes and that inherent weakness that would have never been useful . . . and yet Valentine had kept him. Had showered him with gifts. Had raised him in a manor instead of a run down cottage. Had—Jonathan cut the thoughts off as swell of irritation raged within him. But then, it was obvious that Jace was the weaker of the two, so perhaps the favoritism his father had shown the boy would be his downfall. "What _did_ you learn from him?" Jonathan asked when Jace continued to say nothing. "It doesn't seem to me that he taught you much about fighting, either," he said smugly, leaning in. "You know what he gave _me_ for _my_ ninth birthday? A lesson. He taught me that there's a place on a man's back where, if you sink a blade in, you can pierce his heart and sever his spine, all at once. What did _you_ get for your ninth birthday, little angel boy? A cookie?"

Jonathan saw the move of Jace's throat as he swallowed but his eyes remained impassive. "So tell me," he said slowly, blatantly ignoring Jonathan's boastful jab. "What hole was he keeping you in while I was growing up? Because I don't remember seeing you around the manor.

"I grew up in this valley," Jonathan answered, jerking his chin toward the cave entrance. "I don't remember seeing you around here either, come to think of it. Although I knew about you." Of course he knew about Jace—the other Jonathan. The pretend son. The perfect angel boy. The boy that could love. Jonathan bit down on his anger as he looked at Jace. "I bet you didn't know about me."

"Valentine wasn't much given to bragging about you," Jace said plainly with a shake of his head and Jonathan felt his pulse race. "Can't imagine why."

 _You wont be imagining much here soon,_ Jonathan thought acidly. But then, was he really that upset that the boy knew nothing of him? In a way, his father had protected Jonathan by keeping him secret, whereas Jace . . . Valentine had released into the world and watched suffer. Just look at the fiasco with Clary. So maybe the angel boy wasn't the favorite. Jonathan felt vindictive pleasure at this. "I knew all about you, but you don't know anything, do you?" Pushing himself to his feet he grinned. "I wanted you alive to watch this, little brother. So watch, and watch carefully."

Jonathan unsheathed the sword at his side. The Morgenstern sword—black with silver stars along the blade. Holding it loftily at his side, he approached the center of the cavern where the force of Valentine's army lay in wait. The glowing red stalagmite pulsed with energy, yearning to be broken and released. Coming to a stop in front of it, Jonathan eyed the swirling smoke thoughtfully before raising his blade in one swift motion.

 _"Be free."_

The words came out in another language. The language of his true mother. And then he brought the blade down hard and fast, slicing away the top of the stalagmite. The black smoke didn't hesitate as it shot out like a volcano erupting and filling the chamber. And Jonathan laughed as the demons cried out in delight. Turning he saw Jace struggling to get his arms free, but his struggles would be in vain.

 _"Watch!"_ Jonathan commanded. Holding his arms out wide, the black blade still in his hands, Jonathan turned slowly through the smoke, his hair whipping about his face as the force of the smoke blew at him like a hurricane. "Watch and behold Valentine's army!"

The sound was deafening as it rose ever higher, crashing into him. Thousands of demons. They howled as they brushed against Jonathan, caressing him; and he howled with them in giddy excitement. He cried out with the same delight they felt at being freed. And he watched with ravenous hunger as they pressed against Jace. What did the weak little angel boy make of all this, he wondered.

And then it was over—Jonathan watching as the last of the demons disappeared out of the cavern and into the night. Lowering his arms slowly, he turned to Jace. The boy's head was hung, his golden hair framing his face. Had he passed out again? That really was a bad habit of his, wasn't it? Walking to him slowly, Jonathan knelt down, straddling the angel boy's legs just as he looked up. Jace may have learned how to hide his emotions over the years, but there was no hiding the look of horror in his eyes now. "It's all right little brother," Jonathan said mockingly. "They're gone."

"He said midnight," Jace gasped, his voice raspy. "Valentine said to open the gate at midnight. It can't be midnight yet."

Jonathan shrugged unfazed. "I always figure its better to ask for forgiveness than permission in these sorts of situations." And then he glanced up at the stars through the cavern opening. "It should take them five minutes to reach Brocelind Plain from here, quite a bit less time than it will father to reach the lake. I want to see some Nephilim blood spilled. I want them to writhe and die on the ground. They deserve shame before they get oblivion."

Jace shook his head. "Do you really think that Nephilim have so little chance against demons? It's not as if they're unprepared—"

"I thought you were listening to us," Jonathan cut him off dismissively. "Didn't you understand the plan? Don't you know what my father's going to do?" But Jace said nothing—which should not have been surprising to Jonathan. For all the boys looks, he had nothing in the way of brains. Shame really. It seemed almost unfair to kill someone this unmatched _and_ this stupid. Not that Jonathan was known for playing fair. "It was good go you," he said then, "to lead me to Hodge that night. If he hadn't revealed that the Mirror we sought was Lake Lyn, I'm not sure this night would have been possible. Because anyone who bears the first two Mortal Instruments and stands in front of the Mortal Glass can summon the Angel Raziel out of it, just as Jonathan Shadowhunter did a thousand years ago. And once you've summoned the Angel, you can demand of him one thing. One task. One . . . favor."

Now he had Jace's attention. The angels boy's golden eyes flashed with panic. "A favor?" Jace said weakly, his throat moving as he swallowed hard. "And Valentine is going to demand the defeat of the Shadowhunters at Brocelind?"

 _You really are dumb._ Jonathan rolled his eyes as he pushed himself to his feet and wiped the Morgenstern sword against his jeans as if cleaning the blade. "That would be a waste," he said pointedly. "No. He's going to demand that all the Shadowhunters who have not drunk from the Mortal Cup—all those who are not his followers—be stripped of their powers." He could hear the vindictiveness in his tone, though it was not without pleasure. "They will be no longer be Nephilim. And as such, bearing the Marks that they do . . ." Jonathan grinned. "They will become Forsaken, easy prey for the demons, and those Downworlders who have not fled will be quickly eradicated."

Jace was shaking his head hard, as if trying to fully grasp what Jonathan had just told him. "Even Valentine," he choked, his breath staggered, "even Valentine would never do that—"

"Please," Jonathan cut him off. "Do you really think my father won't go through with what he's planned?"

 _"Our_ father," Jace said quietly, and Jonathan looked down at him. The golden boy with the golden features bound by rope and looking just as pathetic as Jonathan had always assumed he would be. He had his head bent, as though . . .

"Pardon me?" Jonathan said slowly, amusement coloring his voice. "Are you _praying?"_

"No," Jace said looking up to meet Jonathan's eyes. "I said _our_ father. I meant Valentine. Not _your_ father. _Ours."_

At first Jonathan only stared at Jace. Did he really not know yet? And then slowly the corners of Jonathan's mouth ticked upward. "Little angel boy," he said too sweetly. "You're a fool, aren't you—just like my father always said."

"Why do you keep calling me that?" Jace spit irritably. "Why are you blathering on about angels—"

"God," Jonathan cut in with barely concealed enjoyment, if not just a little exasperation. "You don't know _anything,_ do you? Did my father ever say a word to you that wasn't a lie?"

Jace shook his head, his golden eyes narrowed. "How do you know he wasn't lying to _you?"_

Jonathan scoffed. "Because I am his blood. I am just like him. When he's gone, I'll rule the Clave after him."

But Jace only rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't brag about being just like him if I were you."

"There's that, too," Jonathan said, cocking his head to stare down with disgust at the boy at his feet. "I don't pretend to be anything other than I am. I don't behave as if I'm horrified that my father does what he needs to do to save his people, even if they don't want—or, if you ask me, deserve—saving. Who would you rather have for a son, a boy who's proud that you're his father or one who cowers from you in shame and fear?"

"I'm not afraid of Valentine," Jace said quickly; the pulse in his throat giving away his lie. Not that it mattered. Jonathan only shrugged.

"You shouldn't be," he said. "You should be afraid of me." Lifting his blade and placing the tip against Jace's collarbone, Jonathan watched as he became stone still. A forward thrust and he could easily slice the boy's throat. Or better yet, remove the boy's head.

"So now what?" Jace asked calmer than he should have been feeling. "You're going to kill me while I'm tied up? Does the thought of fighting me scare you that much?"

Jonathan said nothing. Nor did he show the irritation at the boys words that swept briefly though his body. "You are not a threat to me," he said flatly. "You're a pest. An annoyance."

"Then why won't you untie my hands?" Jace challenged.

 _Because I want to watch you suffer. Because I want to watch you die a slow painful death when I bleed you dry._ Jonathan blinked slowly. He was eager to leave this place. To get to Brocelind and watch the destruction of the Nephilim. He would not allow Jace to stall him. "I am not a fool," he said without expression. "And you can't bait me. I left you alive only long enough so that you could see the demons. When you die now, and return to your angel ancestors, you can tell them there is no place for them in this world anymore. They've failed the Clave, and the Clave no longer needs them. We have Valentine now."

"You're killing me because you want me to give a message to _God_ for you?" Jace said shaking his head so that the tip of Jonathan's sword scrapped his throat. "You're crazier than I thought."

Jonathan smiled at Jace's words and pushed his blade harder against the boys throat, watching as a trickle of blood swelled and slipped down Jace's neck. "If you have any real prayers, little brother, say them now."

"I don't have any prayers," Jace said slowly. "I have a message, though. For our father. Will you give it to him?"

 _No._ "Of course," Jonathan nodded once and waited.

But Jace only stared at him before saying, "You're lying. You wont give him the message, because you're not going to tell him what you've done. He never asked you to kill me, and he wont be happy when he finds out."

A flare of anger rose up inside Jonathan, his pulse igniting his veins. But he kept his hand holding the blade steady and his expression passive. It was true that he had no intention of mentioning Jace's death to his father. But that wasn't what angered Jonathan. It's was Jace's belief that Valentine would care if the boy died. Jace _wasn't_ Valentine's son—Jonathan was!

"Nonsense," Jonathan said after a moment, much calmer than the anger coursing his veins. "You're nothing to him."

But Jace only shook his head. "You think he'll never know what happened to me if you kill me now, here. You can tell him I died in the battle, or he'll just assume that's what happened. But you're wrong if you think he won't know. Valentine always knows."

Jonathan had become very still now. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"You can't hide what you're doing, though." Jace pressed. "There's a witness."

"A _witness?"_ And Jonathan cursed himself for letting his surprise slip through—for letting Jace get to him. It was with effort that he said his next words calmly. "What are you talking about?"

"The raven," said Jace triumphantly. "He's been watching from the shadows. He'll tell Valentine everything."

"Hugin?" Jonathan felt his heart pounding as his gaze snapped upward, scanning the cavern. If the raven was up there, he was not where he could be seen. Jace had to be lying. But if he wasn't . . . Jonathan lowered his gaze back down to Jace slowly, trying to read his expression, but there was nothing.

"If Valentine knows you murdered me while I was tied up and helpless, he'll be disgusted with you," Jace said slowly—almost softly. And for one confusingly terrifying moment, Jonathan heard his father's voice coming from Jace's mouth. "He'll call you a coward. He'll never forgive you." Jonathan felt his lips trembling. And then he felt rage. He hated this boy. Hated that he was right. Hated that Jace could speak like Jonathan's father and instill the same dread in him. "Untie me," Jace continued when Jonathan didn't move. "Untie me and fight me. It's the only way."

Bringing his sword up, Jonathan's eyes flashed as he brought it down hard.

 _ **#####**_

Isabelle stopped on the green hill overlooking what was left of a manor home. If she was correct in her directions, then it should have been the Wayland Manor where Jace had spent the first ten years of his life. But what stood before her now was the charred bones of what remained. The skeleton of a home. What had happened here, she wondered? It looked as though it had been blown apart from the inside out. Jace had never once mentioned that his childhood home had been destroyed. But then . . . maybe he didn't know? In fact, this looked recent. It _was_ recent, she realized as her eyes fell on some of the still smoking embers.

From the moment Jace had run off she had been struggling with whether or not to go after him. He didn't want anyone to follow. She understood that— _she_ wouldn't want to put her family in danger either. But he was going after Sebastian. This was the guy who had killed Max. She couldn't just sit by and do nothing, could she? Yes, she could, she had decided. But that was also before she had found out that Jace wasn't Valentine's son. That Jace was wrong about himself and Clary. That was the moment she had changed her mind about not going after him.

While she may not have been able to track Sebastian, she _could_ track Jace—though she had lied to Clary, saying it was not possible. She had done it partly because Clary was needed in Alicante. It was her rune that bound Shadowhunters and Downworlders, after all. But Iz mainly didn't want Clary coming because she didn't think Jace would be happy if she had put her in harms way. There was absolutely no way she was going to be responsible for that. Though part of her still felt guilty about the lie. And then there had been convincing Magnus to help her with the tracking. He had not wanted to upset Alec, but on the other hand . . . she had pointed out that it was Alec's _parabatai_ that she was trying to save. She may also have told a little white lie about Alec approving. Another bit of guilt she would have to live with.

The guilt was nothing, however, compared to the knowledge that she would be face to face with Sebastian soon. That she would kill the bastard who had taken her little brother. That she would watch the life leave him. It had been difficult waiting for everything to die down enough for her to slip away. She had watched her parents walk into the Portal with their partners by their sides. And then she had had to duck Alec as she headed for the Portal as well, which hadn't been that hard given he had been preoccupied with Magnus.

She wished she'd had a chance to say goodbye to Simon though.

Taking out her stele, she placed it on the wooden soldier and drew the tracking rune Magnus had shown her. Immediately she saw the inside of a large cavern and Jace, bound on the floor as Sebastian stood over him with a sword pressed to his throat. Her pulse quickened as she drew another rune to pan out from her view. There was a small valley with a stream sitting outside the cave entrance and she felt a pull leading her in the right direction. With one last look at the smoldering wreckage of Jace's childhood home, she took off.

 _ **#####**_

Jonathan stood staring down at Jace with barely contained hostility. The boy was unconscious again—Jonathan having turned his sword at the last minute and using the pommel to bash him upside the head with. As much as he hated to admit it, the angel boy was right. Valentine would never forgive him if he learned the truth—a chance he was not willing to take. Though it wasn't the forgiveness he feared not getting, but the punishment. Valentine had gotten very creative over the years when it came to learning how to punish a child with the blood of a greater demon.

But just because the stupid boy was right, did not mean that it had to be a fair fight. Kneeling down, Jonathan did a quick weapons check—removing everything Jace had brought with him except a dagger, which he used to quickly slice through the ropes that bound the boy. Once satisfied, Jonathan picked Jace up as easily as if he weighed nothing and carried him outside, depositing him hard on the packed earth. The landing seemed to jar the golden boy awake.

Twisting his sword in his hand, the moonlight lighting up the silver stars on the black blade, Jonathan watched expressionlessly as Jace stirred and coughed. "You keep passing out on me," he said bored, as if he were discussing the weather. "It's extremely tedious."

Coughing again, Jace opened his eyes and winced as he reached for his head. _Headache, little brother?_ It would be nothing compared to the pain that Jonathan had planned for him. Turning his head slowly, Jace looked around as if trying to figure out where he was and Jonathan sighed with annoyance.

"Get up," Jonathan said impatiently after another minute passed. "You have five seconds before I kill you where you are."

With another cough, Jace rolled onto his stomach and began pushing himself up slowly. Jonathan noticed the boy's arms shaking beneath his weight. This would be over quickly. Once on his feet, Jace met Jonathan's eyes. "Why did you bring me out here?"

"Two reasons," Jonathan answered, turning his sword lazily in his hands. "One, I enjoy knocking you out. Two, it would be bad for either of us to get blood on the floor of that cavern. Trust me. And I intend to spill plenty of your blood." And then he watched with satisfaction as Jace reached toward his weapons belt and found it empty—save for the dagger. Try as the boy might to hide it, Jonathan saw the sweeping wave of panic that flashed briefly through Jace's eyes. "Not much of a weapon, that," Jonathan grinned as Jace pulled out the dagger.

"I can't fight with this," Jace said, his voice shaking. Jonathan's grin widened as he practically fed off of Jace's fear. He still couldn't believe that this insufferable idiot was his fathers golden boy. That this sorry, shivering, pathetic bastard child was the one his father used to brag about.

But all he said was, "What a shame."

And then he took a slow calculated step closer to Jace, watching as the boy's body became tense. And then another one; the grin never leaving his face as she drummed the blade of his sword lightly with his fingers. What to cut off first, Jonathan wondered. Perhaps a finger? The whole hand? The boy _was_ fond of his looks . . . maybe Jonathan would start with something on his face—

Jace's arm snapped back with lightning reflexes and Jonathan only just saw it before it slammed into his face and sent him flying backward. Anger flooded his veins as his sword flew from his hand. It was like watching everything happen in slow motion—him landing hard on the ground, Jace catching up the sword; and now the angel boy standing over him with the tip pointed at Jonathan. And yet, Jonathan did not feel fear at the upper hand Jace had gained. He was more irritated that his nose was bleeding, and that Jace was touching a Morgenstern sword. A sword he had no right to touch, let alone hold. Reaching up, Jonathan pulled the collar of his shirt aside, baring his throat.

"So go ahead," he said calmly. "Kill me already."

Jace stared down at him, the sword not moving. The poor little angel boy couldn't do it. His father had said Jace was too soft, and here he was proving it. But the boys hesitation was brief. Jonathan could see the shift in his eyes. The boy was a fool if he actually thought Jonathan would allow him to kill him. Just as Jace raised the sword, Jonathan exploded off the ground with the speed of the demons to aid him, for that's what he was. Executing a perfect back flip, and kicking the sword out of Jace's hands, Jonathan caught it as he landed—laughing at the surprise on Jace's face. And then he was lunging forward, swinging this sword toward Jace's heart and just missing as the angel boy jumped backward. Thought he did manage to leave a shallow cut. Jonathan watched for just a moment as blood swelled across Jace's chest through the shirt that had been sliced open.

Laughing again, Jonathan took a step toward Jace, watching as the boy fumbled with the dagger he had been left with as he cast wild glances around. There was no where to run that Jonathan couldn't catch him. He would die here. Never again would Jonathan have to hear his father speak the boy's name— _his_ name. And as for Clary . . . she would no longer have to suffer the boy's annoying admissions. She would have Jonathan—her _real_ brother.

Jonathan lunged forward, his blade swinging in a perfect arc meant to cut down any foe. But Jace was gone. No, not gone. He had jumped. The boy could move faster than Jonathan had given him credit for. Spinning, Jonathan looked up just as Jace flung his dagger down at him. Throwing up an arm, the dagger sliced into his skin as blood spurt across his shirt. Seething, Jonathan stared at the long cut in his arm. The boy would pay for that. Jonathan would bleed him slowly. Sticking his sword in the ground, Jonathan leaped into the air and landed on the high branch next to Jace. He was no longer hiding his anger as he glared at the annoying nuisance. They had played long enough.

"That was fun," Jonathan said acidly. "But now it's over."

And then he lunged at Jace, the fury and rage propelling him forward. Tackling him around the waist, they fell the twenty feet back down through the air, grabbing and striking at each other. Turning his body, Jonathan managed to land on top of Jace. He grabbed for the boys throat, just as Jace grabbed Jonathan's injured arms digging his fingers into the wound. The pain was immediate and intense. Crying out, more with anger than pain, Jonathan cracked his hand across Jace's face. But it was too late, Jace had managed to uproot Jonathan. They were rolling across the valley throwing punches at each other—hitting whatever they could manage to connect with. And then Jonathan gasped, temporarily distracted as icy water found his skin. It was a mistake that would cost him, as Jace used it to slip his fingers around Jonathan's throat, squeezing hard.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't—he was losing? To the angel boy? _No!_ grabbing Jace's right hand, he snapped it backward hard. Jonathan could hear and feel the bones crunching as Jace's wrist broke—even through the boy's agonizing screams. And Jonathan grinned as Jace let go and rolled to the side clutching at his hand. Casting a quick look around, Jonathan saw the glint of the dagger lying not too far from them, the moonlight reflecting off its blade like a shining beacon. Jonathan lunged for it before scrambling through the icy muddy water toward Jace, who was trying hard to push himself away, and digging a knee into Jace's ribs—pinning him to the ground. Jace froze as Jonathan placed the tip of the dagger against his chest.

"And we find ourselves exactly where we were five minutes ago," Jonathan said, his voice like an arctic knife even through his harsh breaths. His pulse was racing. "You've had your chance, Wayland. Any last words?"

Jace blinked. "Wayland?" he repeated as if confused. "You know that's not my name."

Jonathan only shrugged. "You have as much of a claim to it as you have to the name of Morgenstern." And then he leaned forward, putting his weight on the dagger and watching as a drop of blood bloomed around its tip. If it caused Jace any pain however, he didn't show it. "Did you _really_ think you were Valentine's son?" Jonathan asked vehemently. "Did you _really_ think a whining, pathetic thing like yourself was worthy of being a Morgenstern, of being _my brother?"_ The confusion in Jace's eyes gave Jonathan a bitter sense of pleasure and he tossed his sweaty hair back as he glared down at the boy. "You're a changeling," he spit unapologetically. "My father butchered a corpse to get you and make you one of his experiments. He tried to raise you as his own son, but you were too weak to be any good to him. You couldn't be a warrior. You were _nothing._ Useless. So he palmed you off on the Lightwoods and hoped you might beef some use to him later, as a decoy. Or as bait. _He never loved you."_

Under the tip of the blade the blood had begun to slip down the side of Jace's body. But Jace only stared at Jonathan, his face an expressionless mask. Had it not been for the pounding in the boys throat, Jonathan would have thought that Jace hadn't heard a word he just said or didn't care. Jace swallowed hard. "Then you . . ."

 _"I_ am Valentine's son," he said proudly though he could hear the protectiveness tingeing his words. "Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern. You _never_ had any right to that name. You're a ghost. A pretender."

And now Jace's eyes were wide, dazed almost, as though he had been hit with a brick. "You're the one," he choked out. "The one with the demon blood. Not me."

Jonathan grinned. "That's right," he breathed, slipping the dagger in just a little deeper into Jace's flesh. "You're the angel boy. I had to hear all about you. You with your pretty angel face and your pretty manners and delicate, delicate feelings. You couldn't even watch a bird die without crying. No wonder Valentine was ashamed of you."

But Jace only shook his head. "No," he said slowly through hitched breaths. "You're the one he's ashamed of. You think he wouldn't take you with him to the lake because he needed you to stay here and open the gate at midnight? Like he didn't know you wouldn't be able to wait. He didn't take you with him because he's ashamed to stand in front of the Angel and show him what he's done. Show him the _thing_ he made. Show him _you."_ And Jace grinned up at Jonathan—a grin that sent waves of loathing coursing through Jonathan's veins. Loathing and something more . . . jealousy. The grudging sensation of knowing that the boy was partly right. "He knows there's nothing human in you," Jace continued vengefully. "Maybe he loves you, but he hates you too—"

 _"Shut up!"_ Jonathan screamed pushing the blade down hard, feeling as it slipped and nicked against bone as it went in. And then Jace's screams were matching his own as the boy arched up off the ground, blood coming from his mouth. Jonathan leaned back just as Jace dropped back to the ground. And Jonathan watched without remorse as the angel boy choked on his own blood, his eyes casting about wildly. No—not choking, Jonathan realized watching him. Jace was trying to say a name. And Jonathan smiled knowing exactly whose name he was trying to call out.

 _"Clary,"_ Jonathan said the name as softly as Jace had probably been trying. And then he cocked his head to the side as Jace's eyes snapped to him, trying to focus. "I'd almost forgotten. You're in love with her, aren't you? The shame of you nasty incestuous impulses must nearly have killed you." Jonathan's gaze traveled down to the dagger that was still sticking out of Jace's rapidly hitching chest. A bit of the blade was still visible. "Too bad you didn't know she's not really your sister. You could have spent the rest of your life with her." Not that Jonathan would have allowed it. Leaning back over Jace, he put his hand on the hilt of the dagger and pressed his lips against Jace's ear. "She loved you, too," he breathed. And then he pushed the dagger down to the hilt, watching as Jace's eyes widened. "Keep that in mind while you die."

Jerking the dagger free, Jonathan held it up . . . ready to strike again.

 ** _#####_**

Isabelle crested over the hill just in time to see Sebastian kneeling over Jace. Her heart was racing. And then she froze as she saw the glint of moonlight catch the blade of the dagger before it disappeared inside Jace. Jace's screams turned her blood to Ice. She was going to lose another brother to this monster. Jace was dying. She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe.

 _"Move your feet!"_ She screamed at herself.

And she did; her feet moving faster than she had ever run before, her heart pounding as she got closer. She would not lose Jace too. She would not allow another death. Her bracelets slid down her wrist, slithering like a snake as she ran, till she was holding her electrum whip. It was clear that Sebastian was too distracted to hear her approach. He was leaning over Jace, whispering something in his ear. And Jace looked . . . she couldn't let herself think it. Skidding to a halt, she flicked her wrist and sent her whip snapping forward just as Sebastian raised the dagger. It struck home as it wrapped around Sebastian hand. Sebastian only had a second to turn and look at it before she jerked hard. She felt grim satisfaction at seeing the hand tear from Sebastian body and the dagger fall to the ground.

"That was for Max, you bastard." She spit as Sebastian looked at his bloodied stump in shock.

Slowly, Sebastian tucked his arm against his chest. _"Bitch,"_ he spit getting to his feet, his black eyes murderous. But Isabelle was ready for him, as she sent her whip lashing out again. She would kill him. She would slice him to little pieces till there was nothing left. But her whip met only air. Sebastian was gone. Turning cautiously, she tried to see where he had gone. The faint sound of rustling told her that he was probably running. _Coward._ But then her eyes fell on Jace and Sebastian was momentarily forgotten as her heart dropped with a sickening thud.

 _No._

 _Please God, not him too._

 _"Jace!"_ Running to him, she dropped to his side. She could barely see as her eyes swam with tears. His right hand was sitting at an awkward angle, an angry red mark across his throat, and he had several bruises blossoming across his face and chest. But worse was the gaping hole from which blood pooled from his chest. Pulling her stele from her pocket with trembling fingers, she looked up to find that he was watching her with wide terrified eyes. She nearly broke right then. She had never seen Jace look terrified. Not like this. Jace was only ever brave. Opening his mouth, a bubble of blood came out and slid down his face.

"Don't talk," she said shakily as she pressed the stele to his chest in one of the only spots not flooded with blood. As the _iratze_ began to form she met Jace's eyes and attempted a brave smile, her lips quivering. "You're probably wondering what the hell I'm doing here," she said, making sure to draw slowly and gently. With as bad as her hands were shaking, she was afraid she'd fuck up the healing rune. "I don't know how much you know—I don't know what Sebastian told you—but you're not Valentine's son." As the _iratze_ came close to being done, Isabelle could see Jace's body relaxing. Already the wound in his chest was beginning to close. And Jace nodded numbly. "Anyway," Isabelle continued, "I wasn't going to come looking for you after you ran off, because your note said not to, and I got that. But there was no way I was going to let you die thinking you have demon blood, or without telling you there's nothing wrong with you." The tears slipped down her face now, her voice trembling. "Though honestly," she added irritably, "How you could have thought anything so stupid in the first place—" she jumped as she remembered something else, but then hesitated. She had nearly messed up the _iratze_. Pausing she looked down at the nearly finished healing rune and then back at Jace. "And you need to know that Clary's not your sister," she said softly. "Because—" _Because you've been beating yourself up over loving her. Because you've been miserable. Because I read your letter to her and know this was a suicide mission partly because of that . . ._ "—because you just did. So I got Magnus to help me track you. I used that little wooden soldier you gave to Max. I don't think Magnus would have done it normally, but let's just say he was in an unusually good mood, and I may have told him that Alec wanted him to do it—although that wasn't strictly true, but it'll be awhile before he finds that out. And once I knew where you were, well, he'd already set up that Portal, and I'm very food at sneaking—"

Isabelle screamed as she was flung sideways, her words cut off as her whip flew from her hand. She hadn't heard Sebastian approaching, nor had she finished the _iratze._ She had been so busy talking that—the thought left her as she hit the ground hard. But she didn't stay down long. She was already getting to her knees when Sebastian loomed over her. She could see the hatred burning in his eyes, a cloth wrapped around his stump. She glared back with the same intensely burning hatred. And then she lunged for her whip, but Sebastian was faster. And she had to bite down on the pain as he kicked her hard in the ribs. Had to bite down on the scream as she felt a rib break. She would not give him hat satisfaction. But as she landed on the same rib that had just been broken, she couldn't help it. The pain lanced mercilessly through her body and she cried out. Rolling over on her stomach, she wrapped an arm protectively around her body as she pushed herself up with the other hand. And then Sebastian was kicking her again, knocking the air out if her as she slammed back to the ground. Rolling on her back she glared up at Sebastian. He was holding her whip.

 _"Fuck you,"_ She spit up at him maliciously.

But Sebastian only laughed. "I'm sure you wanted to, you little slut." And then he brought the whip cracking down through the air, slicing marks into her body.

The pain floored Isabelle. She had never felt anything like it, and she screamed. But she didn't cry. She would not give him that satisfaction. Instead she pushed herself back, her heart slamming, her breathing staggered as another lash hit her across the face. He stalked forward after her, and she thought of Max. Had he stalked Max before killing him? The thought sent anger flooding through her. "You're a fucking coward!" she shrieked up at him. "He was a child!"

Sebastian hesitated only briefly at her words, but then the following grin sent her stomach plummeting. It was clear he held no remorse. He was wasn't even human. And when he spoke, it was with malice. "Max cried for you before I killed him. You should know that." And then he laughed as he brought the whip back down.

And Isabelle screamed again, the pain intense and raw. But this time she wasn't sure if the pain had come from the whip or from his words. The tears streamed down her face, and she hated that he had gotten to her. Rolling over, she attempted crawling away just as the whip came down sharp across her back. And so it went . . . Isabelle screaming and Sebastian laughing as he used her own whip against her. But soon she felt nothing. Her body numbed from the pain as she swam on the edge of consciousness. She was vaguely aware of pulling her self into a fetal position.

"You little Lightwood bitch," Sebastian sneered down at her after a particularly vicious blow across her legs. "I should have smashed your face in with that hammer until I was sure you weren't breathing any more—"

His words were choked off, and Isabelle lifted heavy eyes to him. He looked surprised, the whip falling from his hand. And then he turned around slowly, staring at . . . what, Isabelle wasn't sure. Her head was swimming. But she did see the blood spreading from his back. And then Sebastian's legs buckled and there standing over him was Jace, the dagger in his hand. Even bloody and broken, he looked like an avenging angel.

"Jace." she called out to him, struggling to sit up. Looking at her, he gave the ghost of a smile. And then his own knees buckled and Isabelle watched with horror as he hit the ground hard. _"Jace!"_ Pushing herself up, her body screamed at her as she forced herself forward, tripping several times over the uneven ground, the pain unbearable. Finally she gave up and crawled the rest of the way to her brother, pulling him into her lap. His breaths were shallow. Too shallow. His pulse too slow.

"Wake up, Jace," she demanded desperately, pushing his blood soaked hair gingerly out of his face. "You're not going to die here." Finding her stele, she finished the _iratze_ on his chest, and then drew several more. It was overkill she was sure, but she didn't care. He still wasn't moving. And was she imagining it, or were his breaths getting even shallower than before? Her stomach dropped as ice flooded her veins. She panicked. "WAKE UP, JACE!" She screamed at him, shaking him hard. And then she placed her trembling hands on his face. He wasn't breathing anymore. She couldn't find a pulse. _"Please,"_ she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "Please, Jace. I cant . . . I can't lose you, too."

 _ **#####**_

Jace woke up in Isabelle's lap, she had pressed her forehead to his and he could feel her body wracked with violent sobs as she held him. For just a moment he was confused about what had happened. And then it all came rushing back to him. Sebastian stabbing him, Isabelle showing up like something out of a dream, Sebastian torturing her, and Jace killing Sebastian. And then his heart dropped as he realized that Iz thought . . . that she really thought . . .

Isabelle pressed her lips to Jace's forehead. _"Ave atque—"_

"Too soon," he coughed, stopping her.

With a gasp, Isabelle darted backwards and Jace looked up at her through swollen eyes. His whole body hurt, but it was nothing compared to the pain he felt at seeing the marks that crisscrossed her face and body, They were blistered and cracked, seeping blood and clear fluid. Sebastian hadn't held back.

 _"Jace . . ."_ she breathed, her tear-stained eyes searching his face.

Reaching up, Jace placed a hand on his sister's bloody face. "I'm not dead yet." And then he rolled off Isabelle's lap, crying out in pain and grabbing at his chest as he hit the ground. "At least I don't think I am," he amended with a groan. "If I am, I'm going straight to the complaint department."

Next to him, Isabelle let out a breath of laughter, before glaring at him. "That's _not_ funny."

Jace looked over at her. He could feel the warmth from the healing runes Iz had placed on him, as well as the relief they brought. But he was still stiff and he rotated his once broken wrist gently. Looking back at his sister he winced at how bad she looked. "You need an _iratze."_

"Can you get up?" She asked at the same time.

"Yeah," he said pushing himself up into a sitting position— _son of a bitch!_ Biting down on his cheek, he at least managed to keep himself from cussing out loud. The last thing he wanted, was to see Isabelle worry about him. And never again did he want to feel her body shaking with grief. Getting to her own feet, he watched as Isabelle applied a quick healing rune to her arm before reaching down and taking Jace's hand and hauling him to his feet. He couldn't stop the groan that left his lips on his way up, but at least he managed to keep from falling back down. Thanks to Isabelle. Still holding to her hand, Jace pulled Isabelle tight against him, surprising her. "You saved me, Iz." he whispered into her ear. "Thank you."

"I love you, Jace." She said in response through tearful breaths. "I don't say it enough. But I love you. And what were you thinking? Running off like that?" She was squeezing him so hard now it was painful, but Jace didn't complain—he reveled in it. "Do you know what you put every one through?" And then Jace was laughing. Not out loud, and not a lot, but enough that it brought Isabelle up short. Pulling away, she looked up at him. The whip marks were still healing—angry red lines—but her eyes were clear. "Did you hear what I had said before?" She asked softly. "About Valentine and Clary?"

Jace's heart leapt at her question. He had not had a whole lot of time to really think about it, given the situation. Valentine wasn't really his father. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about that. But the fact that Clary wasn't his sister? It was not something he could think about just now. Reaching up, Jace brushed a thumb along Isabelle's face. "Yeah, Iz. I heard." And then he paused, as if just realizing something. "How did _you_ know?"

"Clary," she said. "Well, Clary's mom. She told Clary and Clary told Simon, who told us. Aren't you . . . aren't you happy?" Iz asked uncertainly. "Clary—she's not your sister. Everything you felt . . . everything you wanted . . ."

Jace smiled. So Clary knew then. She knew that they—that what they felt, though trying so damn hard otherwise . . . "I _am_ happy." Jace said tiredly. "Happier than I could probably put into words right now. And you know how I pride myself on words. But I just can't think about it right now, Iz. I can't think about her. So just tell me . . . is she safe?"

Isabelle's eyes searched his, but slowly she nodded. "She's still in Alicante."

Jace let out a breath of relief. "Did they . . . did Clary's mom mention what happened to my real parents? Who they were?" _Valentine cut you out of a corpse and turned you into an experiment._ Sebastian's words still rang in his head. And suddenly he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"She said that you were the son of Stephen Herondale," Isabelle answered gently. "That he died in some raid and his wife . . . your mother . . ."

Jace turned away. He didn't want to hear anymore. Besides, he already knew what happened to his mother. Sebastian had relished in it. Behind him, Isabelle's voice trailed off. He could feel her eyes on him, but ignored it. So he was a Herondale. And then he remembered how Inquisitor Herondale had thrown herself in front of him, saving his life on Valentine's ship. _Your father would have been proud._ She had known, Jace realized. Maybe not until that moment, but now he knew that what he had taken as an insult at the time, had been anything but. It had been a compliment—an apology. She had been talking his father—her _son._

Taking a breath, he walked to where Sebastian lay dead in she stream and picked up the Morgenstern sword. Turning around he saw Isabelle watching him suspiciously. "Iz—"

"You're going after him, aren't you." It wasn't a question, and there was no need to ask who she was talking about.

"The lake is the Mirror," Jace said as way of explanation. "Valentine knows it and intends to summon Raziel. And whoever summons Raziel can demand of him one request. Valentine intends to take away the powers of any Shadowhunter who hasn't sided with him—to strip them of their Marks—turn them into Forsaken. _That's_ what he's going to demand, Iz. I have to stop him."

"Then lets go," Isabelle said, going to retrieve her whip. Jace bit the inside of his cheek as she turned to look at him expectantly. And then her face fell. "You don't want me going."

"Someone has to go warn the Clave. Tell them that Sebastian released the demons early—though they probably already know. That Malachi is on Valentine's side—"

 _"Malachi?"_ Isabelle cut him off, in shocked disgust. "I knew that guy was a dick."

"Isabelle." Reaching forward he took her by the shoulders. "You are the bravest, most talented Shadowhunter I have ever met," he said, recalling all the things he had wanted to tell her before but couldn't.

"Besides you, of course," she joked halfheartedly.

"You are _better_ than me," Jace said forcefully, squeezing her arms. "You always have been."

"If you really think that, then why cant I—"

"It has to be me that stops Valentine," Jace cut her off with a shake of his head, willing her to understand. "Not because I don't think you can. But because it has to be me." _Because while he may not be my father, he is still my father. Because I can't risk you getting hurt again. Because I have to end this._ How could he possibly explain any of that?

But luckily, he didn't have to. Isabelle looked at him silently for some time before nodding. "Promise me you'll come back from this, Jace." She said taking a step past him to where Sebastian lay. "Promise me that it won't be the last time I see you."

Swallowing, Jace knew that he couldn't make that promise and he could tell that she didn't really expect him to. All the same, he found himself hesitating—chewing on his cheek as he took in the features of his sister. Terrified it might be the last time he saw her.

"What are you waiting for?" Isabelle asked impatiently then. "Go. I'll take care of this douche bag," she said kicking Sebastian's lifeless body. "And I will get a message to the Clave or to Luke or someone. Now go, Jace. Go save the world.

With that, Jace turned and ran.

* * *

 _ **Please Review!**_


	20. Fallen Angels

**~Chapter Nineteen~**  
 **Fallen Angels  
**

After getting everyone through the Portal, Magnus and Alec stepped through—closing it behind them. They were standing on a hill that looked out over Brocelind Plain, the moonlight reflecting the battle that was already raging. _What the hell?_ Alec thought desperately glancing around. The demons were everywhere and Alec was only just able to throw a look at Magnus before they both sprung into action. Pulling his bow from his back, Alec nocked an arrow as Magnus cast a protection barrier around them before lobbing a blue orb of light into an encroaching demon.

Running forward, Alec shot arrow after arrow. The demons were coming in waves, but they shouldn't have been coming at all. They were early. Valentine had said midnight. Which meant that either something went wrong, or Valentine had released them ahead of schedule. He could believe either to be true. Turning to look at Magnus, Alec's pulse shot up. Magnus was a whirl and flourish of blue light as he hurled bolts toward the demons, sending them flying backward. Even deep in battle, the warlock had a flair about him that no one would ever be able to replicate. Somehow, Alec just knew this. Scanning the area with focused eyes and a burst of adrenaline, Alec caught a glimpse of a Dahak demon that had gotten past the barrier Magnus had set around them. But it was clear that Magnus had not. Raising his bow, Alec cursed. Magnus was blocking the demon. Moving forward quickly, time slowed as he slung his bow around his back and pulled his seraph blade from his belt in one fell swoop.

 _"Nakir,"_ he breathed, watching the angel blade come to life and lighting up the night. The demon barely had time to turn before Alec was on him. With a spin, he lopped the demon's head off; spinning away quickly as it dropped and began folding on itself.

"No need to be a showoff, Alexander," Magnus called out, sending a bolt of blue buzzing past Alec's head. Alec didn't flinch at the magic. There was a time when he would have . . . but not anymore.

 _"I'm_ the one showing off?" he asked, looking up at Magnus incredulously and tucking his blade back in his belt. "Because _I'm_ the one going—" he waved his arms around with a ridiculous flourish.

"I do _not_ go—" Magnus threw his arms up, mimicking Alec. But when _he_ did it, a current of electricity shot from between his fingers, hurling a brilliant blue ball of light into the night and Alec nearly laughed.

Sadly the moment would be short lived as more demons began to approach.

 _ **#####**_

The last time Jace had run like this, he had been carrying a dying Clary in his arms after a Ravener had attacked her. He hadn't known her then, but he had already been enamored with her. He remembered sitting every night in the infirmary with her as she healed, stealing their first kiss in the moonlight like she was sleeping beauty and he, prince charming. She had even woken the next day. She had tipped his world upside down. But this was before everything had happened. Before learning that she was his sister. _She's not your sister._ The thought intruded bluntly, and Jace flinched. Though this time he didn't mind the intrusive thought. Because _this_ time, the thought wasn't painful. _She's not my sister._ He had been saying it over and over again since learning it. If it weren't for the fact that he was in a hurry—not to mention still pretty painful—he might have even leapt with joy. How much had he killed himself for the things he had wanted to do with her— _to_ her. Simply because he had believed Valentine? How much had he suffered for his thoughts? How much had she?

Looking up at the sky, Jace watched the shadows pass across the moon. She wasn't his sister and Valentine wasn't his father. Jace didn't know his father—had never met him. It was a painful thought. And his mother . . . Valentine had killed her and cut Jace from her body. Wasn't that what Sebastian had said? He would find Valentine and he would demand answers. And when he was done . . . he would kill him as he had Sebastian.

Pushing forward, Jace moved as quickly as he could. The healing runes Izzy had given him helped immensely, but he was still recovering. And he was still sore. And he was running out of time. Valentine had a considerable head start on him, but given that Jace hadn't been turned into a Forsaken . . . it was a promising sign that the Angel hadn't been summoned yet. Far into the distance he could hear the sound of a battle raging. While the Shadowhunter in him longed to join them, he took heart in knowing that the battle had not ended. That the Nephilim and Downworlders were holding out.

Pushing forward, he realized just how close he was.

He was almost there.

Exhausted he willed himself not to pass out as he cresting the hill; the breeze from the water a welcome reprieve as the moon rippled lazily in the waves of the lake. And then Jace froze at the sight before him. Valentine was standing there staring down at someone. Someone with fiery red hair. _Clary._ Jace knew in his heart it was her. He would know her anywhere. How had she gotten here? Hadn't Isabelle said she was still in Alicante? His heart began pounding hard. But neither of them seemed to have heard his approach. Clary was glaring up hatefully at Valentine, the fire in her emerald eyes ablaze. And there was a long mark along her cheek, as though she had been cut, the blood spilling down her face. Jace bit down on his cheek hard as anger, outrage so intense it threatened to consume him, wracked his body and propelled him forward.

He had only just come up behind Valentine as he raised his sword above Clary's head, his intention clear. He was going to kill her. Raising the Morgenstern sword, Jace flicked his wrist forward just as Valentine brought the blade down. The metal of the two swords clashed loudly as Mellatarch was sent flying. He was standing less than a foot from Valentine now, and he watched as Valentine spun to look at him with both astonishment and annoyance. As though he couldn't believe Jace was standing there.

"Clary?" Jace said without taking his eyes off the man he had thought for seventeen years was his father. "Clary, are you all right?"

 _ **#####**_

They were never ending. Spinning on his foot and dropping down to his knee, Alec tracked the two demons that were approaching—Alec had his bow nocked and was already releasing the arrow. It struck home on one of the demons just as a cobalt spear sliced off the others head. Turning, Alec looked up at Magnus, who was grinning.

"You're welcome!" Magnus practically sang. Rolling his eyes, Alec scanned the battlefield. Just as Magnus threw his arms up. "Seriously, Alexander, what was the point in asking me to be your partner and drawing some unheard of, possibly _dangerous,_ rune on ourselves to seal it . . . if you're not going to use my magic?" He asked. At the question, Alec felt his pulse spike as he looked down at his own hands. "I mean, you heard Clarissa," Magnus continued. "Those who use the rune to tie themselves together will share in each other's strengths. My strength is my _magic,_ Alexander. All you have to do is concentrate."

"And fighting is mine," Alec countered, taking his spot next to Magnus. "My runes, my bows, my blades . . . I don't see you running in and performing a roundhouse kick on some Oni demon or using a bow to send arrows flying into an approaching horde."

At that, Magnus dropped his head and grinned wickedly, his cat-like eyes lighting up. With a snap of his fingers, a perfect arrow began form and hover over his palm, revolving slowly. The shaft had a dull glow about it, while the fletchings shimmered in the moonlight and sporadic fires across the battlefield. But the tip of the arrow was absolutely brilliant—a blinding sapphire. Alec had never seen a more perfect arrow. His fingers actually itched to reach out and touch it—to nock it. And then with a flick of his finger, Magnus sent the arrow sailing as quick as lightning into the night.

"I do _not_ need a bow to fire an arrow, Alexander."

Alec's breath caught, his heart racing with something more than the adrenaline of battle. Grinning, he gave his head a sharp jerk and turned away to scan the battlefield. Magnus gave a light breath of laughter, and Alec's pulse shot up. Even though it was nighttime, he knew that Magnus could see him blushing—they shared strengths; and Alec had his night vision Mark. But even then, something told Alec that Magnus could have probably seen in the dark just fine without the Nyx Rune. Just how cat-like were Magnus's eyes, Alec wondered. Those beautiful eyes that Alec adored.

He _really_ needed to focus.

Alec scanned the battlefield again, his bow out and ready. Below, two Shadowhunters and their Downworlder counterparts were taking on three Ravener's. Letting an arrow fly, it struck one of the demons in the side just as a werewolf pounced on it, pinning it to the ground and holding it there for a Shadowhunter to slice off its head. Magnus sent a blue disk spinning toward the second Ravener, who had just whipped its tail back, ready to strike out at the other Shadowhunter. The Ravener screeched as its stinger was sliced off. A second later, a purple faerie was removing its head. After that, the group below made short work of the last one.

Casting a sidelong glance at Magnus, Alec smiled. He was so used to fighting with Jace and Izzy. He would _always_ fight better with Jace, but . . . fighting side by side with Magnus? It was _definitely_ something Alec could get used to. And it wasn't that he had forgotten that he could use Magnus's magic, either. Since marking the Alliance Rune on Magnus, and having Magnus Mark it on him—Alec could still feel his surprise at how well Magnus had used his stele—Alec had been able to feel an altered flow of what he assumed had to be magic surrounding him. And truth be told, he saw things differently too. But the feeling scared him. It felt . . . personal. Intimate. Like Alec would be tapping into everything that Magnus was if he tried using his magic. Not to mention he was terrified that he would set himself on fire.

Sighing, Alec pulled out an arrow held it in front of himself . . . staring at the rune'd tip as he tried to concentrate. This was so stupid. This was never going to—

The tip of the arrow burst into flames.

Alec jumped, his eyes darting to Magnus with sheer excitement. "Holy hell!" he shouted in surprise. "Did you see that?!"

Magnus raised a brow, a patient smile playing on his lips. "Yes."

Alec let out a burst of exhilarated laughter before knocking the flaming arrow and sending it sailing. He would set as many demons on fire as he could.

Next to him, Magnus sighed overloud. "Seriously, Alexander? All the magic of the High Warlock of Brooklyn at your fingertips, and you use it to _set your arrows on fire?!"_

But Alec only laughed as he nocked another arrow and lifted his finger, setting the arrow tip alight, before sending it sailing into the mass of demons below.

Sighing again Magnus pointed out past the barrier to where two demons had just landed. "Look, he said." Nearby, the battle raged, but the demons were far enough back that no one directly on the field took notice. "Use my magic to kill them." Magnus encouraged Alec. "And _not_ by setting your arrows on fire."

"I . . . I don't know how."

"Of course you do." Magnus said with a wave of his hand. "I know you feel my magic just as I can feel your ninja skills."

"I'm not a ninja—" Alec broke off, his lips ticking up into a grin as Magnus's cat eyes danced—both of them remembering their incredibly disastrous and incredibly amazing first date. "Fine," Alec conceded after that. "What do I do?"

"Just concentrate." Magnus shrugged. And then, taking Alec by the waist, Magnus turned him so that Alec's back was against Magnus's chest. Alec's whole body was alive under Magnus's touch. And Alec watched, swallowing hard, as the warlock slowly lifted his arm with his other hand, splaying Alec's fingers out toward the unaware demons. Though he knew there was a battle raging—that down below, metal was clanging, piercing howls rent the air, and the wind moved in wisps—Alec could only hear his blood pounding thunderously in his ears. He could only feel Magnus's chest as it pressed against his back. "Now," Magnus whispered, his breath tickling Alec's ear. "I want you to imagine what you want." And Alec raised a brow, the corner of his mouth crooking upward. "I want you to focus on that and use it," Magnus breathed softly—seductively—and Alec bit his lip. "And then when—"

The demons exploded.

Quite literally.

And that might have even been a good thing . . . if that was what Alec had _planned_ to happen. Or if, you know, that had been _all_ that happened, for that matter. But it wasn't. The ground the demons had been standing on had also exploded outward, sending dirt and grass and debris rocketing into the air and leaving a good crater sized hole in the earth. The force of the blast was so much so, that nearby demons, Downworlders, and Shadowhunters alike all stopped to stare in surprise. But at least the two demons were dead—or hurtling into space.

Even Magnus had been surprised by the sheer force of it. The warlock had frozen behind Alec, causing Alec's stomach to turn nervously. He really hadn't meant to blow the demons up. It had just kind of . . . happened. But still, when Alec turned to look at Magnus, he wasn't the least bit surprised to find his boyfriend—eyes wide with shock—staring at the giant hole in the ground.

"Well, huh." Magnus said slowly, his greenish-yellow eyes darting to Alec as a smile played on his lips. "Don't worry, Alexander, premature magic can happen to anyone." And then he winked. "Next time, try to contain your excitement a little better."

Alec groaned, pulling his bow from his over his shoulders. "I think I'll just leave the magic to you."

 _ **#####**_

"She can't answer you," Valentine said, looking back and forth between Clary and Jace. "She can't speak."

Jace bit down hard, tasting blood in his mouth as his pulse flared. But he refused to look at the girl that was his life. He would break if he did. "What have you done to her?" He asked with deadly calm as he took a step toward Valentine, his sword raised. To Jace's surprise, Valentine took a step back. Though he did not think it was because Valentine was afraid. Valentine would never show anyone that he felt fear. _You're fooling no one._

"A Rune of Quietude. She won't be hurt by it," Valentine said slowly, his eye looking over Jace—over his battle wounds. He thought Jace was weak but just by standing here now, Jace had proved him wrong. Even now, even knowing what he did, Jace took satisfaction in proving Valentine wrong. "I don't suppose," Valentine said after a moment, "that you've come to join me? To be blessed by the Angel beside me?"

 _To come and be blessed . . .?_ After all this—after everything that had happened, he honestly hoped that Jace would still join him? He'd lost his fucking mind. And Jace wasn't going to bother even responding to that. Instead he took a step forward, his sword still raised as stared at the man before him with contempt. "I know what you're planning to do," Jace said slowly. "I know why you're summoning the Angel. And I won't let you do it. I've already sent Isabelle to warn the army—"

"Warning them will do little good," Valentine cut him off with a dismissive wave. "This is not the sort of danger you can run from." And then his black eyes flicked down to Jace's raised blade with annoyance. "Put that down and we can talk—" he broke off, staring more intently at the sword. "That's not your sword," he said flatly. "That's a Morgenstern sword."

And Jace smiled venomously. "It was Jonathan's," he said, using the boys real name for possibly the first time— _his_ name. The name his father had given them both because it would be easier than remembering two separate names. _He's not your father._ "He's dead now."

And now Valentine looked truly stunned. Jace didn't think he had ever seen his father show any real emotion like this. "You mean—"

"I took it from the ground where he'd dropped it," Jace said callously. "After I killed him."

Valentine blanched, his face tightening. "You killed Jonathan?" He breathed. "How could you have?"

And Jace blinked almost with disbelief. Was he kidding? Was he really trying to go on some morality lesson? He was trying to kill the fucking world! "He would have killed me," Jace found himself saying suddenly as though he were being forced to explain and defend his actions. "I had no choice."

But Valentine was already shaking his head. "I didn't mean that," he said as though still in shock. "I raised Jonathan—I trained him myself. There was no better warrior."

Jace bit down hard on his cheek. He should have known. Sebastian—Jonathan—he had said that their father thought Jace was weak. Valentine would never have thought Jace could beat Jonathan. _Seriously? No better warrior?_ Jace felt his lip curling with disgust. "Apparently," he said quietly. "There was."

"But—" Valentine shook his head hard as his voice cracked, and Jace wondered if it was really grief Valentine felt. He doubted Valentine felt anything besides greed. "But he was your brother."

 _Like hell he was!_ And Jace had to bite down on his initial reaction as his body pulsed angrily. Taking another step forward, Jace brought the blade an inch closer to Valentine's heart. His grip on the blade was tight. "No," he said calmer than he felt. "He wasn't." And then he met Valentine's eyes. Gold clashing with onyx. "What happened to my real father?" He asked. "Isabelle said he died in a raid, but did he really? Or did you kill him like you killed my mother?"

Valentine blinked. It was obvious he had been stunned by the control Jace had taken out of his hands—stunned by Jace's actions and by Jace's knowledge. Nearby, Jace was aware that Clary was watching intently, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her. He only looked at Valentine. "I didn't kill your mother," Valentine said finally, passing a hand over his face as if grief were going to consume him. But Jace knew the man felt nothing. "She took her own life," he continued. "I cut you out of her dead body. If I hadn't done that, you would have died along with her."

Jace swallowed hard as a wave of emotion and nausea passed through him. "But _why?"_ Jace demanded. He could feel himself losing control but couldn't stop it. _"Why_ did you do it?" So he would have died with his mother, what did he care? It was obvious that Valentine didn't care about Jace's father or mother, so what made him so _fucking_ special? "You didn't need a son, you _had_ a son!" And then he raised the blade to Valentine's throat. "Tell me the truth," he said with deadly clam. "No more lies about how we're the same flesh and blood. Parents lie to their children, but you—you're not my father. And I want the truth."

Valentine looked down at the blade at his throat and then back up at Jace, his black eyes flashing in the moonlight. "It wasn't a son I needed," he said slowly. "It was a soldier. I had thought Jonathan might be that soldier, but he had too much of the demon nature in him. He was too savage, too sudden, not subtle enough. I feared even then, when he was barely out of infancy, that he would never have the patience to follow me, to lead the Clave in my footsteps. So I tried again with you. And with you I had the opposite trouble. You were too gentle. Too empathetic. You felt other' pain as if it were your own; you couldn't even bear the death of your pets." And then Valentine sighed. "Understand this, my son—I loved you for those things. But the very things I loved about you, made you no use to me."

"So you thought I was soft and useless." Jace said emotionlessly. And then he cocked his head to look at the man before him. The man who made him what he was. "I suppose it will be surprising for you, then, when your soft and useless son cuts your throat."

"We've been through this," Valentine sighed with the tone of someone explaining something to small child. "You wouldn't do that. You didn't want to do it at Renwick's, and you don't want to do it now."

"You're wrong," Jace said calculatively. Valentine would be expecting a forward thrust and would counter it. "I have regretted not killing you every day since I let you go. My brother Max—" Jace winced at his brother's name, "—is dead because I didn't kill you that day. Dozens, maybe hundreds, are dead because I stayed my hand. I know your plan. I know you hope to slaughter almost every Shadowhunter in Idris. And I ask myself, how many more have to die before I do what I should have done on Blackwell Island?" Jace shook his head. "No, I don't _want_ to kill you. But I will."

Valentine took another step back. "Don't do this," he said softly. He sounded tired. "Please. I don't want to—"

"To die?" Jace finished for him. "No one wants to die, Father." Slowly, Jace lowered the sword so it was back down at Valentines heart—if he had ever had one. "Do you have any last words?"

"Jonathan—" Valentine's voice was cut off as Jace pressed the blade against his father's chest, tearing through the gear he wore. And Jace thought of the first time Valentine had dressed him in gear. He thought of looking up at the stars and naming constellations. He thought of spaghetti baths and hours of training. He thought of treats and gifts and love. But there had been more anger than love. There had been pain and abuse—physical, mental and emotional. There had been hatred and unendurable punishments that no six year old should have been made to endure. _You are not my father!_

 _"Last words,"_ Jace spit forcefully through clenched teeth, his lips trembling. "What are they?"

And Valentine raised his head, his onyx eyes open and filled with remorse and sadness. His lips were thin as he swallowed hard. "I'm sorry," he said, and Jace felt the shock rock through him at the sincerity of his fathers words. "I am so sorry."

Slowly Valentine reached out, his palm up as though he had meant to touch Jace. Maybe even hug him. Had he actually accepted his death? Was he actually relenting? Jace felt the sword he held slip slightly just as a streak of metal flashed through the night. Catching it out of the air, his father plunged the Mortal Sword through Jace's heart.

Taking a hitched breath, Jace looked down in confusion. There was sword sticking out of him. It should hurt shouldn't it? He only felt cold. He was dying, he realized. He had failed. Looking up he met his father's eyes just as Valentine jerked the sword out of his chest, the force of it knocking Jace to his knees. On some level, Jace thought on the irony that this would be the second time tonight he was killed by a Morgenstern. He even opened his mouth to comment on it, but couldn't. Only blood came. Turning he finally took that look at Clary he had been denying himself before falling forward and letting the darkness consume him.

 _ **#####**_

The battle was never ending it seemed. For every demon Alec cut down, three more seemed to take its place. And the rate to which the demons were coming through was alarming to say the least. Alec had depleted his supply of arrows twice—Magnus restocking them both times. But he was already coming to an end again. Nearby, Magnus was sending an oni demon flying backward, and Alec became temporarily distracted by the gracefulness of his boyfriend when he used his magic. Especially given that Alec was only capable of causing giant holes in the ground when using magic.

 _"Alec!"_

The cry of alarm from Magnus surprised Alec. His boyfriend usually only used his nickname when he was mad at him. But before he could ponder on it, Alec was sent barreling forward. Tucking himself in as Jace had made him practice over and over again, Alec rolled and then sprung to his feet. He had his seraph blade in his hand as he whirled to face a Scorpios demon. The demon sprung and—

Pain so acute—so horrendously torturous—tore through Alec's body. It was tearing at him, ripping him apart. Alec cried out from the shock of it, his body convulsing. Every part of him felt wrong—felt lost. Like a cord snapping. And his _parabatai_ rune . . . dear God, it was burning him! His shoulder was in flames! _Why_ was skin burning? And then Alec could feel his mouth working, hear himself scream out Jace's name. This couldn't be happening—this cant _fucking_ be happening! He screamed again, panic and horror and grief renting the air. And again. And—

The pain stopped.

But while the pain may have stopped, the memory of it was still searing into Alec's memory. The terror of what it meant. Alec blinked. He was lying on his back and he could feel the tears wet on his face. He still felt wrong. _Jace._

"Alexander . . ."

Magnus was kneeling next to him, his eyes wide with worry, his face white with shock. On some level, Alec was also aware of the four dead demons that were folding in on themselves nearby—one being the Scorpios. Magnus must have killed them on his own. And then his shoulder flared again. _Jace._ Alec panicked. Pushing himself up frantically, he tore at his jacket, flung it off, and ripped his shirt up off his head, straining to see the rune on the back of his shoulder. And then he turned horrified eyes up to Magnus, who was watching him silently. "My _parabatai_ rune . . . is it . . ."

"It's there, Alexander," Magnus said quietly, kneeling down and sweeping his finger along the rune lightly. Alec shuddered at the touch. _Where thou diest, will I die . . . and there will I be buried._ But he wasn't . . . how could— _Jace_ —Alec's body jerked from the remembered pain as his heart pounded rapidly. He had thought—he was so sure that—and yet . . . it was there.

"It's not faded or anything?" Alec pressed, terror in his voice.

Magnus frowned. "No."

It hadn't faded away. It was there. And Alec looked up at Magnus with confusion and horror. How could he possibly explain what had happened? How could he even begin to describe what he had felt? Taking a breath, he met Magnus's eyes. "Jace . . . my rune . . ."

"I always said the _Parabatai_ ritual was a cruel one," Magnus frowned, though his tone was soft, soothing. "Is Jace all right?"

Alec took a steadying breath. He could feel him. But . . . he had been so sure that only minutes ago he had been . . . Alec shook the thought away. "I—I think so." And then he nodded as he felt Jace's presence more insistently. "Yeah—he's okay."

Magnus's lips were thin as he got to his feet and held a hand down to Alec. Alec took it gratefully, letting his boyfriend pull him to his feet. "Well," Magnus said, slowly, turning toward the battlefield. "Jace must have managed to do something right."

"Why do you say that?" Alec asked, dipping down to pick up his shirt and shove it back on, before walking over to grab is bow and blade from the ground. He couldn't remember dropping either of them. When he looked up, he saw Magnus pointing out over the battle scarred plains.

"The demons are retreating."

 _ **#####**_

 _Jace wasn't sure where he was. He was sure it wasn't heaven. It was too bleak. But it didn't seem bleak enough for hell either. Purgatory maybe? It was black, dark in every direction. He remembered that Valentine had stabbed him—a fatal blow. But he couldn't understand what he was doing here. Why wasn't he moving on? There had to be someone who could explain things to him. Somewhere he was supposed to go._

 _"Hello?" he called, listening as his voice echoed. His heart began to race. Was he really stuck here alone? Taking a step forward, he heard the wind before he saw the light. Shit. Was he really going to have to fight something after he had been killed? That was a bit insulting wasn't it? "Who's there?" he called out, reaching for his belt and finding nothing. Apparently weapons weren't allowed in purgatory? Great. "Show yourself!"_

 _But there was nothing. Only Shadows and whispers. Jace tried finding the source of the whispers but no matter how far he walked, he found nothing. Looking down at his hand he jumped at realizing that he, too, was a shadow. So this was death. Never-ending wandering and whispers and shadows. He had never even had the chance to tell Clary he loved her one last time. To hold her. To stroke her hair._

"Jace."

 _His name so clear, reverberating through the darkness, made him jump. He knew that voice. It was Clary saying his name. Clary was here? Had Valentine killed her? No, no, no . . . he began running though the shadows, shouting Clary's name, but was brought up short by a blinding white light. It engulfed him in it's blazing heat and Jace screamed from the intensity of it._

 _"What's happening?"_

It is not your time, young Shadowhunter. Of everything she could have asked for, she only wanted you. Do not waste this gift.

.

.

Jace opened his eyes, blinking up at the night sky and taking a breath into his lungs. He was alive. He was alive? How was that even—Valentine! Rolling onto his side Jace spring to his feet, his hands flying to his chest where he had been impaled by the sword, but there was no hole there now. There was nothing. It was as if it had never happened. How . . .

Looking up he saw Clary lying on beach of the Lake, and near her Valentine—dead. There was no mistaking the glassy eyed stare he gave the night sky. Jace only hesitated for a moment at seeing the man who raised him lying dead, before he sprinted to Clary. Leaning over her, he held his breath. Was she alive? Please let her be alive. And then he saw her take a breath, and Jace felt as if he could live again.

"Clary," he said softly. He wanted to reach for her. "Clary, open you eyes."

And she did.

And Jace felt the weight of the world leave his shoulders.

Her eyes were bright as she looked up at him in shock and wonder. She was so beautiful. Even caked with dirt and torn clothing and a cut along her cheek . . . she was beautiful. And he would do everything he could to make sure he deserved her as her heard a voice remind him not to waste his gift. "Your alive," she breathed then, as though she couldn't believe the sight in front of her. "You're really alive."

Jace felt his body trembling as he reached forward to touch her face. He slipped his thumb along the cut on her cheek and then down to her jawline. She was a marvel. "I was in the dark," he said softly, not wanting to let her go. He would never let her go again. "There was nothing there but shadows, and I was a shadow, and I knew that I was dead, and that it was over, all of it. And then I heard your voice. I heard you say my name, and it brought me back."

Cupping a hand over his, her fingers warming his, Clary shook her head—her fiery curls bouncing and Idris eyes shining in the moonlight. "Not me," she said. "The Angel brought you back."

"Because you asked him to," Jace breathed, remembering the disembodied voice that had spoken before being slammed back into his body. He traced his thumb further along her jaw. "You could have asked for anything else in the world, and you asked for me."

And Clary smiled, a blindingly beautiful smile. More blinding than the angels glow that had engulfed him in his darkness. "But I don't want anything else in the world."

At her words, Jace's blood raced. He had only ever wanted to hear her say that since he had met her. Throughout greenhouse picnic's and hotels filled with vampires . . . even through lies of about being related and death ships—he had only ever wanted to hear her say that she wanted him. And now she had. It was worth it. All of it. Tightening his hand on her face, he began to lean in toward her. He wanted to kiss her. To hold her. To—

Clary leaned back suddenly. "You're not my brother," she said a little breathlessly. And then she blushed. "You know that right?"

Jace grinned. "Yeah," he said. "I know that."

Leaning in, he brought his lips to Clary's, feeling at long last like he was whole. Completely and utterly whole. She took a surprised breath before kissing him back hard and fast and desperately. His heart soared. And then they were laughing, leaning into each other breathlessly as the sun came up over the battle scarred plains of Idris.

All they had to do now was figure out how to explain this.

* * *

 ** _Please Review!_**


	21. Epilogue - New Beginnings

**~Epilogue~  
** **New Beginnings**

Chaos.

Thats what the battle on Brocelind Plain had been.

It had also been exhilarating in a way that Luke never imagined it would be. He had felt the runes that Jocelyn had Marked herself with—runes he never thought he would feel again. And he had fought side by side with Shadowhunters. The battle had brought him immense joy while at the same time leaving a hollow ache that reminded him of what he had lost all those years ago when he got bit. And then there was the fact that he had gotten to fight side by side with Jocelyn again. Not since the Uprising had they done that. But the battle on the Plains had been short lived—the demons retreating almost as quickly as they had arrived. Jocelyn had looked at Luke in surprise, the seraph blade in her hand still raised. The sight of her standing there with the glow from the angel knife lighting up her green eyes in the night like emerald fires, had reminded Luke of a time when they had been much younger, and it had sent his heart racing.

But the battle really was over. Around them, he could hear the cries and murmurs of the injured and the silence of the fallen.

It wouldn't be till later that they got word from Clary about what had happened and where they were. Jocelyn had nearly come unglued, clinging to Luke as she shook. Not even the battle on the Plains had instilled this much fear in her. But then . . . facing a demon was much less frightening than the idea of something happening to your child. And truth be told, Luke had not faired much better at hearing the news. Clary may not have been his daughter by blood, but . . .

 _Valentine isn't my father, Luke is._

Her words from weeks ago at the Institute echoed loudly through his head. He remembered how surprised he had been to hear her say that. He had always hoped she might feel that way, but she had never actually come right out and said it before. And then after learning the truth about who she was and _what_ he was . . . but no, she'd said it. She was his daughter.

With his arm tightly around Jocelyn, they stepped quickly through another Portal and onto the sandy beach of Lake Lyn where Jocelyn immediately broke away from him and ran to her daughter who was sitting next to an alive but unconscious Jace. Not far from them was Valentine, dead, and Luke froze. He couldn't count how many times he had imagined this moment—had thought his years of hatred had prepared him for it. But now that it was here, he felt it like a punch to the stomach. Taking a breath, Luke approached Valentine's body and sat down next to him in the sand. Drawing his knees up, he looked across the rippling water of the lake.

The pain of severing ties from your _parabatai_ was supposed to be an immense one. That's what Luke had been taught—what all those who go through the _parabatai_ ritual are taught. But for him, after he had Changed the first time, he had barely felt it. He knew it had happened, of course—that the cord tying their lives to one another had snapped. He even remembered feeling a sense of loss. But that had been the extent of it. There had been no physical pain . . . at least not like what he had been lead to expect. At the time, Luke thought that it might have been because the agonizing torture of his first Change had cancelled it out, but upon looking back years later, he hadn't been so sure. It had been years since he and Valentine had been _parabatai._ Years since their link to one another had been severed by that fateful night in which Valentine had betrayed him. And yet, as crazy as it might sound, Luke still thought he would have felt Valentine's death. That some part of him would still have known the moment it happened. This was the man that Luke had loved and followed blindly, after all. Valentine had helped him—guided him. He had taught him how to fight and asked him to be _parabatai_ over any other he could have picked. Many would have considered themselves lucky. And many _did_ consider Luke lucky. They had been unable to see just what it was that Valentine had saw in him. Even now, Luke could still remember the feel of the intense heat that had come from the flames ringing the runed _parabatai_ circles.

 _Entreat me not to leave thee,  
_ _Or return from following after thee—  
_ _For whither thou goest, I will go,  
_ _And where thou lodgest, I will lodge.  
_ _Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.  
_ _Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried.  
_ _The Angel do so to me, and more also,  
_ _If aught but death part thee and me._

And yet, Luke hated the man who lay dead next to him. Valentine had hurt the only woman Luke had ever loved. He had torn her family apart as well as countless other families. He had torn Luke's own family apart. He had taken his sister's husband and brother from her. Left her with nothing but shame. And he laughed. Had called it for the better good, even. Said that it had been necessary. The amount of atrocities Valentine had committed were too many to count.

Sighing, Luke looked to the stars. He could see them clearly, though he was not in wolf form; nor did he have his glasses. The Alliance Rune was still working and he was drawing on the Vision Rune Jocelyn had marked herself with. The moon was bright in the sky. Luckily it was not completely full, so there was no pull to Change. Nearby he could hear Clary talking to her mother—going over what had happened. While he managed to catch bits of it, Luke didn't really need to hear it. He didn't have to be told what happened. It was an easy enough guess.

"You left me years ago," he breathed softly, watching as a star shot across the sky. He knew that Valentine couldn't hear him. That he would never be able to answer, and yet Luke didn't care. "You left me and you did not allow me to follow you. So I will not follow now. And when my time comes, it will not be here and it will not be with you." Blinking, Luke was surprised to feel a tear slip down his cheek. Swallowing hard, he turned his gaze from the moon and looked over at Jocelyn. She was hugging her daughter tightly . . . though Clary's hand was gripping Jace's unmoving one. The boy had known nothing but rejection and neglect from everyone he thought he could trust. He was a Wayland, raised as a Lightwood, only to learn he was a Morgenstern. And yet, he wasn't even that. He was a Herondale. The last of his blood line. "You don't deserve my grief," Luke whispered sadly, wiping away the tear that had escaped as he looked back down at Valentine. "Nor do you deserve to be mourned by Jace." Getting to his feet, he took a breath. _"Ave Atque Vale."_

"He doesn't deserve that," said a voice at his elbow. A voice Luke would know anywhere. Looking up, he saw Jocelyn standing there with Clary under her arm. Anger flared through him at seeing the long cut that ran from Clary's hairline down to her jaw—at the blood that crusted her face. And then he met Jocelyn's fierce green eyes as she said, "He doesn't deserve anything."

Luke nodded. "I know," he said softly. "I didn't do it for him."

Together they headed back through the Portal.

.

The moment they set foot back inside Alicante, it had been a whirlwind. Maryse had immediately closed in on Jace and demanded that he be taken to the hospital to heal. Clary, on the other hand, had been summoned by the Council to give testimony of what happened at the lake. Jocelyn had objected, of course, but Clary insisted she was fine. All the same, both Luke and Jocelyn stood protectively by her side the entire time.

She started by telling them how Jace had gone after Valentine, which Luke had known about. He could still see the boy standing on the steps of the Hall after telling him his plan, looking up at Luke as though he had nothing to lose—as though he had already accepted his death. Clary had come to be at the lake later, where she was met by Valentine who was getting ready to summon the Angel. She told them about what he had said, and what he had intended to request from the Angel when Jace showed up and began fighting Valentine. A fight he would not win, given that his fight with Jonathan Morgenstern had left him severely weakened. Jace had been close to death when the Angel was summoned. When Clary said this, her voice had cracked and Luke couldn't help but look at her. There was something off about the way she said it. As though Jace hadn't just been close to death . . . but had actually died. But before he could think too much on it, Clary had moved on. She told them how she managed to change the commanding name from Valentine's to hers in the ritual before the Angel arrived—which had filled Luke with both immense pride and immense terror. Clary had seen the Angel Raziel—something no other Shadowhunter had done. Not since Jonathan Shadowhunter himself. She had told them that after the Angel had killed Valentine, he had offered her one request. And of anything she could have asked for, it had been to heal Jace.

Not a lot of Shadowhunters had been thrilled about that. Luke was sure that they probably felt she should have asked for something else. Something that would have been more beneficial to the Nephilim. Luke on the other hand, would have been more surprised if she _had_ asked for something else. He had seen Jace and Clary both over the last several weeks—had watched sympathetically, unable to say or do anything, as they tortured themselves over their feelings for one another due to a lie told by Valentine. A lie even Luke had believed. And sadly, Luke knew it would never change. At least not for Jace. Clary had tried to move on with Simon, but Jace? He saw himself in the boy, in that Clary would be the only girl he ever loved—just as Jocelyn would be for Luke. But what was done could not be undone. And if Clary was the least bit bothered by the angry glares and tone she received for what some called her juvenile puppy love request, she didn't show it.

After Clary's initial testimony, Luke had spent a lot of his time running back and forth between Amatis's house and the Accords Hall to work with the Clave on hammering out the details for the Council seats that had been promised to Downworlders. And they had made it clear that they wanted Luke to take the seat meant for the werewolves. Patrick said that it made sense given that while it may have been Clary's Alliance rune that allowed Shadowhunters and Downworlders to work together . . . it had been Luke who had convinced the Downworlders to come in the first place. The fact that Luke used to be a Shadowhunter also didn't hurt. Much to his surprise, Luke had told them he would think about it.

Valentine's funeral was held two days later.

Luke stood at the door of Amatis's house wearing one of his old flannels and a pair of jeans. He had no intention of putting on mourning clothes for Valentine, regardless of whether they had once been _parabatai_ _._ It had been hard enough the last two days to convince the Clave to give Valentine a proper Shadowhunter funeral, as they had been content with just burying him at the Crossroads and forgetting about him. Had it not been for Jace, Luke probably would have agreed with the idea. But the boy had been through enough without also being denied the right to say goodbye to the only father he had ever really known. Jocelyn had also agreed to go, though Luke had a feeling it was more to make sure that Valentine truly did burn this time.

"Clary's not coming."

Blinking, Luke pushed up the glasses that had started to slip down his nose and saw Jocelyn standing there. She was wearing a simple black dress, her ruby hair pulled back into a loose bun. She looked beautiful. But still, the color of mourning was white for Shadowhunters so Luke was a bit surprised to see her wearing the traditional Mundane black mourning attire. Maybe this was her last dig at Valentine, who had hated Mundanes almost as much as Downworlders. Luke wondered if he should attend in wolf form. Valentine would have _loved_ that.

Reaching up, Luke pulled a green sweater off the coat rack. "I'm not surprised," he said as he helped Jocelyn into it. "Clary didn't really know him, and what she did know of him was pain, war, and destruction."

Jocelyn took a shuddering breath. "I didn't _want_ her knowing him at all. I tried—"

Reaching forward, Luke pulled Jocelyn into his arms, ignoring the flips his stomach did in the process. He had gotten good at ignoring them over the last twenty years. "Joce," he breathed as she shook in his arms. "This world . . . _our_ world—and it _is our_ _world_ —was not something you were going to be able to hide from her forever. On some level you had to have known that."

"I did," Jocelyn conceded, pressing her forehead against his chest. "I just thought that when that time finally came . . . it would be _me_ telling her—explaining it all to her." And then she met his eyes. "Luke, I can't thank you enough. If it hadn't been for—if you hadn't been there . . ."

Taking Jocelyn by the shoulders, he pushed her gently away, holding her at arms length. And for just a moment he thought he had seen surprise and disappointment shadow her face, but upon looking again he was sure it had been a trick of the light. Jocelyn had only ever loved him like a brother. "I will always be there for Clary." And then he sighed, taking another step away from her and letting his arms drop to his sides. "We should get going."

The sky was a cloudless blue. At least, it would have been if it weren't for the pyres. The smoke rising and swirling through the air. The last two days had been an endless stream of funerals; which meant an endless stream of smoke. Luke had even gone to some, both Shadowhunter and Downworlder alike. This was the last one for him. And from the looks of it, he and Jocelyn would be the only ones attending—though Luke had thought Jace might come. He knew the boy had gotten released from the hospital today, though he hadn't seen him. According to Magnus, Jace had been fine physically. Mentally and emotionally, however, the boy had been exhausted beyond what any one person should have been able to withstand.

In front of them, Valentine had been placed meticulously on the pyre. He had been dressed in Shadowhunter gear, his sword placed tightly in his hand. As was custom, a white silk had been wrapped around his eyes. Even in death, he had been treated better than he deserved. Luke turned his gaze away from Valentine and instead watched as one of the few remaining Silent Brothers took his place across from them. His parchment hood was drawn up, but Luke could still make out the runes that had been burned across his lips. It hit Luke, as he looked at the Silent Brother, that he too was just one more victim of Valentine's. This man had lost countless of his brothers to Valentine, and now he was about to perform his eulogy simply because his duty required it of him. Next to the Silent Brother, Patrick Penhallow stood quietly with a torch in his hand. Around them, Luke could feel the stares of both the grief stricken and the curious.

"Do you think anyone else will come?" Jocelyn asked quietly.

"I don't know," he shrugged in response, turning to look down at her. "When it comes to Valentine . . ." Luke trailed off as he saw a familiar face standing back toward the opening of the necropolis. Jace looked lost as he stood there staring at the bier that held Valentine. He was wearing a what looked like a white fitted sweater under his jacket and dark blue jeans. It was as though he had wanted to dress in mourning clothes but couldn't quite go all the way through it. Making eye contact, Luke raised his hand and waved at him. "Jace! Over here!"

But Jace shook his head, taking a step back. Jocelyn, who had been watching, frowned. "This must be hard for him."

"Yeah," Luke agreed, running his fingers through his hair as he watched Jace climb part way up the hill before turning and taking a seat in the grass. Lowering his gaze, Luke met the emerald eyes of Jocelyn. "Everyone has told him that he should hate his father—hate Valentine—for what he had done to him and to others. And on some level, I think he does. But I think he loved him, too. So he's conflicted." And then Luke sighed. "I don't know. I just know that he has a long road ahead of him. Trying to figure out who you are even when you already know is hard enough. But Jace? He's been so many things in such a short amount of time. How do you come back from that?"

"You care about him," Jocelyn said quietly looking up at Luke, her emerald eyes shining.

"He grows on you," he conceded with a slight grin. "Plus, Clary cares about him."

Jocelyn turned to look back over her shoulder to where Jace sat, but all she said was, "I noticed."

"He's a good kid, Jocelyn. A pain in the ass sometimes—" Luke let out a breath of laughter, "—but a good kid. As for your other question—who else will come? I think it will be complicated. Valentine is responsible for every death here. Every injury. Every lost home . . ."

"Him and Jonathan, both." Jocelyn breathed and Luke frowned. She was staring ahead at Valentine's body now, but she was hugging herself tightly—a comforting move she only did when she was truly upset. "And it's my fault."

"Joce . . ." Reaching out, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and brought her closer against him. "Jonathan was what Valentine made him."

Jocelyn shook her head. "I should have killed him, Luke. I should have—"

"You thought he was dead." Luke cut her off. "I know we weren't sure about Valentine, but we both thought that those small bones in the manor fire had really been Jonathan's."

Jocelyn was quiet for a long time. Taking a step away from Luke, she sighed. "I would just feel better if they had found Jonathan's body, too."

"I know," Luke said softly.

Across from them, the Silent brother opened his arms wide.

 _Let us begin._

.

The funeral didn't last long.

Not that Luke thought it would. There wasn't much anyone could or _would_ say about Valentine that was complimentary, so the Silent Brother had stuck with the basic words of goodbye. Jocelyn had also refused to speak for him, and had instead remained stoic during it all—her hands balled into fists at her sides. Luke noticed that as it progressed, very few had wandered over while others watched from farther back. It wasn't until the pyre had been lit, however, that Jocelyn let out a haggard breath. Luke could almost see the weight that had been lifted from her shoulders.

As the crowd began to disperse, Luke turned to see that Jace hadn't moved from his spot on the hillside. With a quick word to Jocelyn and a promise to meet her back at his sister's house, Luke made his way across the necropolis and up the hill. Jace, he noticed, was plucking the grass up roughly by the roots and had already started to amass a small pile.

"Jace," Luke said as he came to a stop next to him. The boy looked up, his golden eyes filled with surprise as though he hadn't heard Luke approaching. Up close, he could see the bruises that had yet to fade from Jace's face blooming across the boy's jaw and trailing down his throat. Luke's stomach twisted with anger. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to gesture toward the burning pyre "It's over," he said. "The ceremony. It was brief."

Jace looked back down at the ground. "I'm sure it was," he said flatly, digging his fingers into the grass and dirt again. "Did anyone say anything?"

"Just the usual words," Luke shrugged before lowering himself down gently next to Jace. His body, though healed, was still sore in some areas. While the fight had been short, it had also been intense. Not too mention he wasn't as young as he used to be.

"And Clary wasn't—" Jace hedged, not meeting Luke's eyes as he looked out over the necropolis. "I mean, she didn't—"

"Come to the funeral?" Luke asked, watching the swirling black spirals of smoke that was rising toward the sky. Luke shook his head and turned his gaze back to Jace. "No. She didn't want to." And then he cocked his head curiously as he realized why the boy was asking. "You haven't seen her? Not since—"

"No," Jace cut in ripping up more grass. "Not since the lake." Tossing the green blades down, he shrugged as if it were nothing. "This was the first time they let me leave the hospital, and I had to come here."

Luke took a breath. "You didn't _have_ to," he said softly. "You could have stayed away."

"I wanted to," Jace sighed, dropping his eyes to the ground. "Whatever that says about me," he mumbled irritably, as if it had been an afterthought. And Luke's heart constricted. He wondered what the boy would do if he put a hand on his shoulder. Probably push it away. That was the thing about Jace, Luke had come to learn. You couldn't force Jace to open up. He either would or he wouldn't. The boy had been broken and put back together so many times since Luke had met him . . . and yet despite it all, Jace didn't like people knowing how it had affected him. But if he _did_ choose to let you in . . .

Luke leaned back on his hands. "Funerals are for the living, Jace, not for the dead," he said as kindly as he could. "Valentine was more your father than Clary's, even if you didn't share blood. You're the one who has to say good-bye. You're the one who will miss him."

Jace exhaled sharply, disbelievingly. "I didn't think I was _allowed_ to miss him."

This. This was exactly what Luke had been telling Jocelyn. The boy didn't even feel like he was allowed to grieve the loss of Valentine because of what everyone else felt about him. Screw everyone else. This wasn't about them. Jace owed no one an explanation for his feelings for Valentine. Sitting forward, Luke tried to catch Jace's eyes but the boy had suddenly become very interested in a long blade of grass he had just plucked up from the ground—wrapping and unwrapping it around his finger. Luke sighed. "You never knew Stephen Herondale," he said gently but pointedly. "And you came to Robert Lightwood when you only barely still a child. Valentine was the father of your childhood. You _should_ miss him."

At that, Jace finally turned to look at Luke. It was brief, but Luke could see both gratitude and relief on the boy's face. Pulling his knees up to his chest, Jace shook his head. "I keep thinking about Hodge," he said. "Up at the Gard, I kept asking him why he'd never told me what I was—I still thought I was part demon then—and he kept saying it was because he didn't know. I just thought he was lying. But now I think he meant it. He was one of the only people who ever even knew there _was_ a Herondale baby that had lived. When I showed up at the Institute, he had no idea which of Valentine's sons I was. The real one or the adopted one. And I could have been either. The demon or the angel. And the thing is, I don't think he ever knew, not until he saw Jonathan at the Gard and realized. So he just tried to do his best by me all those years anyway, until Valentine showed up again." His golden eyes swept up to meet Luke's, and Luke was surprised to see how open and honest the boy who was usually so guarded and closed off was. "That took a sort of faith—don't you think?"

"Yes," Luke said softly. "I think so."

Jace took a deep breath and nodded. "Hodge said he thought maybe upbringing might make a difference, regardless of blood. I just keep thinking—if I'd stayed with Valentine, if he hadn't sent me to the Lightwoods, would I have been just like Jonathan? Is that how I'd be now?"

Luke knew by the look on Jace's face that the boy wasn't just speculating the possible outcome of a different scenario. He was actually asking Luke if that was what he would have become. Another Jonathan. Another Valentine. And the truth was . . . Luke shook his head. "Does it matter?" He asked instead, more forcefully than he had meant to. But Jace had to understand . . . "You are who you are now for a reason. And if you ask me, I think Valentine sent you to the Lightwoods because he knew it was the best chance for you. Maybe he had other reasons too. But you can't get away from the fact that he sent you to people he knew would love you and raise you with love. It might have been one of the few things he ever really did for someone else." Reaching out, Luke clapped Jace's shoulder before giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I wouldn't forget about that, if I were you."

Jace let the ghost of a smile slip through at Luke's words, though he said nothing. Nor did he pull out of Luke's grip. Instead he dropped his head against his knees as if suddenly exhausted, wrapping his arms around his legs. And Luke stayed with him, not releasing his grip on Jace's shoulder in hopes of comforting the boy for as long as he would allow it. Lifting his eyes, Luke watched the last tendrils of smoke escape silently into the sky as the bier below collapsed into a pile of ashes.

.

Opening the door of his sisters house, Luke walked in slowly and sat down on the couch. He had stayed at the necropolis long after Jace had gotten up and left, saying something about finding Clary. And he had watched as the boy walked away with his hands in his pocket. But Luke hadn't been able to make himself get up. The Clave was planning their meeting tonight before the celebration to decide which Downworlder would take a seat on the Council. It was when he was supposed to give them his answer. And he was seriously considering it, too—except that it would mean staying in Idris. Which would mean leaving Jocelyn and Clary, because he knew there would be no way she would consider staying too. Jocelyn hated everything Alicante reminded her of. Not to mention he hadn't even told Jocelyn about the Clave's proposal yet. It had just never seemed like the right time. And so he had laid there in the grass, trying desperately to think of what he should do. And how to tell Jocelyn. In the end he had decided he was going to do it. The thought of being away from Jocelyn and Clary pained him, but he knew it was something he had to do. That this change among the Clave was monumental. Besides, it wasn't like he would never see Clary again. He knew that she would never give up being a Shadowhunter which would at least ensure occasional visits. And maybe he would even be able to some day get over Jocelyn. There was a thought.

"Luke?"

Luke's stomach did a little flip as Jocelyn walked out of the hallway. She had changed out of her dress and was wearing a pair of loose jeans and a stripped black and white t-shirt that had old paint splatters on it. Her ruby hair was still up in its messy bun, however. She stopped upon seeing Luke sitting on the couch, like she was unsure. Did he look that bad, he wondered?

"Is everything okay?" She asked with uncertainty, looking around. "Is Jace okay?"

"Yeah," Luke said pushing his hand through his hair. "Well, as okay as he's going to be right now, I think. He'll be better with time." And then he looked— _really looked_ —at the woman he had been love with all his life. His heart was beating fast. He could do this. "Jocelyn . . . I need to tell you something."

Jocelyn smiled nervously as she came over to sit next to him. "Luke, you can tell me anything. You know that. What's going on?"

Luke let out a sharp breath of laughter. If only that were true. Seeing the confusion on her face, he shook his head. He could do this. And he truly planned to. But just as he opened his mouth to speak, he noticed the suitcase sitting nearby. "Are you packing?" He blurted out instead.

"What?" Jocelyn followed his gaze. "Oh," she said understanding then. "Well, yeah. We're going to have to get back to New York eventually. It's not like we can stay here. Or like we would even _want_ to stay here," she added. "In fact, I was hoping you would be back soon. I wasn't sure what all you brought with you—"

"Jocelyn," Luke said softly, pushing his glasses up his nose, his heart pounding painfully.

"I know you said that you and Clary came unexpectedly," she continued as though she hadn't heard him. "But I'm sure you've gotten some things since then—"

"Jocelyn . . ."

"—so I really need to know what you want me to pack for—"

 _"Jocelyn!"_ Luke practically shouted, watching as she jumped—her eyes wide. Taking a breath, he covered his mouth with his hand as he looked at her. "Joce . . . I'm not going back to New York."

Jocelyn blinked. "What?"

"I'm staying," he said slowly.

And Jocelyn leapt to her feet, her head shaking. "What do you mean, your staying?" She asked pacing. And then she stopped, staring at him with wide dismayed eyes that cut through him. "You mean you're not coming back to New York at all?"

Luke swallowed hard and leaned forward, his elbows digging into his knees. "I've been asked to remain in Alicante and represent the werewolves on the Council. I told them I'd let them know tonight."

"Couldn't someone else do that?" Jocelyn was pacing again, her arms waiving wildly. "One of the pack leaders here in Idris?" And it took everything Luke had not to get up and take her in his arms. He hadn't expected this reaction from her. He knew that she might not like it, but he also figured she would understand. Maybe even be a little relieved to not have to endure his unrequited love. Sighing, Luke shook his head.

"I'm the only pack leader who was once a Shadowhunter," he said pointedly. "That's why they want me." Reaching up, he raked his fingers roughly through his graying hair. "I started all this, Jocelyn. I should stay here and see it out."

Jocelyn stopped, her shoulders pulled back as she stared at him like she wanted to say something. She opened her mouth, her eyes blinking. _What?_ He wanted to ask. _Please say something, Jocelyn._ But she didn't. Closing her mouth slowly, she gave a tight painful smile that stabbed into Luke like a knife. And then she nodded.

"If that's how you feel," she said slowly, "then of course you should stay."

And Luke searched her face, trying to see if she really meant it. But Jocelyn only smiled encouragingly in response—her eyes saying that she understood. But then a tear slipped out, ruining her carefully constructed facade. Spinning away from Luke, she wiped it away quickly . . . but it was too late. He had seen. Jumping to his feet, Luke wiped his hands on his jeans. "I'll have to sell the bookstore—get my affairs in order." He said, his voice coming out low and husky. "It's not like I'll be moving right away."

"I can take care of that," Jocelyn said brightly with a wave of her hand as she turned back to look at him, her tears under control now. "After everything you've done . . ." She trailed off, her eyes beginning to swim again as she looked at him.

Luke was breathing hard, his heart pounding rapidly in his ears. This was for the best, wasn't it? He was doing the right thing . . . right? So why did it feel like he was hurting her? He knew that she would miss him, they were friends. That's all they would ever be. She had never wanted anything else. And he was okay with that—had _always_ been okay with that. Turning, Luke took a step toward the kitchen. As he did, he thought he heard her take a shaky breath behind him but he couldn't bring himself to turn back around and look at her. Not if he wanted to keep going. Besides, it seemed they had said all they were going to, so he might as well go and let the Clave know of his decision.

And it was that moment that he remembered the conversation he had had with Clary after the Battle on the East River. They had been driving in his truck when she had caught him off guard with something about Valentine telling her that Luke was in love with her mother. Luke had thought about denying it at the time, but after all Clary had been through—he felt she deserved to know the truth. And he remembered how shocked Clary had been when he mentioned that he had never come right out and told Jocelyn he was in love with her.

 _"You mean you never told her how you felt?"_

 _"Your mother isn't stupid, Clary. She must have known. I offered to_ marry _her. However kind her denials might have been, I do know one thing: She knows how I feel and she doesn't feel the same way. It's all right," he added when Clary said nothing. "I accepted it a long time ago."_

 _"I think you should have told her," Clary said pointedly. "I think you're wrong about how she feels."_

 _"I'm not, Clary," he replied shortly, his tone clear that the discussion was over. Not that Clary seemed to hear it._

 _"I remember once I asked her why she didn't date," she pressed on to his dismay. "She said it was because she'd already given her heart . . ."_

Luke blinked, his body shaking. He had been surprised to hear Clary say that. But even then, he was sure that Jocelyn had probably meant Valentine. Clary had disagreed. Reaching forward he placed a steadying hand on the wall, his head hung. He couldn't bring himself to leave, but he knew he couldn't stay. His fingers dug into the plaster of the wall.

 _Don't you hate it? Not ever saying how you really feel?_

"Look," Luke said, making a snap decision as he pushed himself off the wall and spun around to look at Jocelyn. She was hugging herself tightly, her emerald eyes shimmering as she watched him silently. Now or never he told himself. "I've wanted to tell you this for a long time," he began quickly, his heart racing. "But I didn't. I knew it would never matter, even if I did say it, because of what I am. You never wanted that to be part of Clary's life. But she knows now, so I guess it doesn't make a difference. And I might as well tell you." Luke took a breath. "I love you, Jocelyn. I have for twenty years."

At his words, Jocelyn's eyes widened, her mouth popping open. But she said nothing. Slowly she closed her mouth. Dropping her gaze to the ground, she shook her head. And Luke's whole world came apart. But it shouldn't have, should it? It was what he had expected, wasn't it? He had known that she didn't feel the same way, after all. And yet, the actual rejection was a lot harder than he had been prepared for. "I have to get back to the Council and tell them I'll stay," Luke said heavily when Jocelyn continued to say nothing. Not that she had to say anything—she had said everything with her silence. "We don't ever have to talk about this again. I just feel better having said it after all this time."

That was a lie.

But at least he knew now, didn't he? He would never have to wonder. Turning he stalked through the kitchen, wrenching the door open hard in his attempt to get out of the house as fast as he could. He paused in the doorway, staring out at the sunlit canals. The trees were waving lazily in the breeze as the birds chirped their songs. It was beautiful. And yet he couldn't bring himself to appreciate it. Closing his eyes, Luke got his bearings before stepping out and shutting the door gently behind him.

He walked slowly. He wasn't really in any hurry to tell the Council that he was ready to change his whole life around—even if it was true. Besides, the meeting wasn't until later. He also wondered how it was that he was going to tell Clary of his choice. He had always thought of her as his daughter. And she had even come to think of him as her dad. She would understand, he hoped. And if she didn't, she would at least learn to accept it. Stopping, Luke looked around. He was standing in Angel Square without even realizing it. In front of him was the Accords Hall where they were all waiting. Sighing, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked instead up to the statue of the Angel Raziel that stood in the center of the Square. Looking up at the bronze angel, Luke couldn't help but think that he had made a huge mistake. He should never have said anything. How could he possibly come back from that? He couldn't. And now whenever Jocelyn was around there would always be that hanging between them. Not that Jocelyn would ever be around again.

He had lost her—ruined what they did have with some stupid admission of love and—

A hand spun him around. _"Luke!"_

"Jocelyn?" Luke stared in surprise at Jocelyn, his heart slamming in his chest. She was breathing hard, her face flushed and her windblown hair falling free of her bun in spirals. Had she been running, he wondered? But her eyes were shining as they looked at him. "What are you doing—"

"Remember when you asked me to marry you," she cut him off, "back when I first left Alicante? Why did you ask me?"

Luke frowned in confusion. Of course he remembered proposing to her. Had she really ran after him just to ask him that? "Jocelyn—"

"Why did you ask me?" She cut him off again persistently, her emerald eyes pleading as she looked up at him.

Was she serious? But he could tell that she was. Closing his eyes, Luke sighed and shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

Opening his eyes, he met the face that could always undo him. It wasn't fair. And the longer he got lost in her eyes, the more incessantly he felt the wave of frustration crashing through him. What did she _want_ from him? What was the _point?_ Tearing his gaze away from her, Luke looked up toward the cloudless sky. _"Why?"_ he breathed miserably. _"Why_ does it matter?"

But Jocelyn only shook her head. "Please just tell me, Luke."

"Why do you _think_ I asked you?" He said roughly, meeting her eyes once more. "What do you want me to say, Jocelyn? Do you want me to tell you it was because I was in love with you? Because it was. It's _always_ been because I was in love with you. Then and now. From the moment I met you."

Jocelyn's hand flew to her mouth. "I thought you were just being nice," she whispered from between her fingers, her eyes wide. "Charitable."

 _"Charitable?"_ Luke echoed incredulously, nearly choking on the word.

"Yes," Jocelyn said, lowering her hand. "I thought that you were just trying to . . . I don't know, make up for what Valentine had done. Like you felt guilty or responsible or—"

Luke let out a dry laugh. "Trust me, I wasn't being charitable, Joce. If anything, I was being selfish. I knew what I was. And to ask you to marry me anyway? To ask you to tie yourself to a werewolf when . . ." Luke trailed off as Jocelyn took a step back. What was she—

"You left." She said suddenly, shaking her head as her brows furrowed.

"What?"

"You left," she repeated as though she had just realized something. "You can't tell a girl you love her and then just _leave!"_

 _Oh._ "Jocelyn—I . . ." Taking a breath, he pushed his hair back roughly as she stared up at him expectantly. "You didn't say anything," he began defensively. "I told you I was in love with you and _you_ shook your head and said _nothing_. Not a single word. What was I _supposed_ to do after that?"

"I wasn't shaking my head because of how you felt," she insisted fervently. "I was shaking my head because I didn't believe you! How could I when—"

"You didn't believe me?" Luke cut in astounded.

"Of course I didn't!" She shook her head. "How could I possibly believe that the man I have been in love with for the last fourteen years, had impossibly loved me longer?" She asked. "How could I not . . ."

Luke stared at her. She loved him? His whole body was alive. She was standing in front of him talking, her arms moving animatedly but he couldn't hear her. All he could hear was that she loved him. The woman he had loved for twenty years; the woman he had thought had only loved him as a friend. By the angel, she was beautiful. _She loves me._ Could that really be possible?

"You love me?" Luke heard himself ask.

Jocelyn stopped mid-sentence to look at him, an amused smile playing on her lips. "Didn't you hear anything I just said?"

Luke shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers, as his chest heaved. His pulse was racing; his body a live wire. He took an unsteady step forward. "You love me?"

Lowering her hands, Jocelyn looked up at Luke through her lashes. "Yes," she breathed, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I Love you—"

He kissed her.

He couldn't remember moving forward. He couldn't remember taking her face in his hands. But he had. And he was drowning in her—the softness of her lips, the silk of her hair, the eagerness in which she kissed him back, all of it. All of her. Not in his wildest dreams had he ever thought this could happen. That she could be in love with him . . .

"Say it again," he begged, his lips tracing down her jawline as he held her.

Jocelyn laughed softly as her fingers curled in his hair. "I love you, Lucian Graymark."

Luke pulled back, his heart racing as he looked down at her. It had been a long time since she had called him by his real name. Swallowing hard he cupped her face in his hand, caressing her skin with his thumb before he pressed his lips gently against hers.

He would never let her go.

 _ **#####**_

Jace sat in the shadows of the Accords Hall with a silver box perched on his knees. The box itself was relatively nondescript save for the birds that rimmed the lid. It was what was _inside_ the box that mattered. Or at least Jace thought it was supposed to matter. After he had left Luke at the necropolis, he had gone to Amatis's house to see if Clary was there. She hadn't been, but Amatis was. And she had pulled Jace into the house and given him the box . . . which he had taken awkwardly as she explained that it had belonged to his father. His _real_ father. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with it. He knew that Luke's sister had been married to Stephen—and it was clear that she had never gotten over him. Which made it all the more awkward, given Stephen had left her for his mother. At one point he wondered if jumping through Amatis's front window in retreat would be considered subtle. Probably not, but it would have gotten the message across.

Not that he could totally blame Amatis either. From what Jace had learned, Stephen had been forced to leave Amatis and marry Celine, his real mother, by Valentine. But what did that say about his real father, that he would allow someone to make him leave the woman he was supposed to be in love with? Biting his cheek, Jace thought of Clary. Nothing and no one could ever make him leave her. Even when he had thought she was his sister, he had been so completely hers. He had resigned himself to a life of never loving anyone but her—watching as she moved on, married someone else— _she's not your sister._ The thought was a welcome intrusion.

He had not dared to think too much on it the night he had learned it from Sebastian— _Jonathan. His name was Jonathan_. And he had refused to think on it when he confronted Valentine. He had been worried that the realization would consume him. But now? It was all he thought about. On some level, he hadn't been surprised. No matter how hard he had tried during those torturous weeks in which he had believed the lie . . . he had still not been able to think of her as his sister. Not really. Just thinking of her now, an ache spread through him. It had been two days since that night at the lake, but he missed her with an almost physical pain. He would see her tonight, he knew. But it wasn't soon enough.

After leaving Amatis's house he had started to head back to the house they were staying in. He missed his family. He wanted to hug Alec and Isabelle. He wanted to thank Maryse and Robert. Because Luke was right . . . they had loved him and raised him with love. Even now. Maryse had stayed with him in the hospital. Jace had woken up to find her asleep in the chair next to his bed and Magnus standing over her. Apparently she hadn't left his side since he'd been brought back from the lake. And yet, standing outside the house, he couldn't bring himself to go in. Taking a step back, he was brought up short but someone standing behind him. Turning he saw it was Alec. Before Jace could move or say anything, his brother grabbed him and pulled him into a tight hug. Jace had thought of about a hundred smart ass remarks he could have made but he said none of them. Instead he returned the hug.

"You scared me," Alec breathed into Jace's ear.

"I know," Jace said softly, pulling away. "I'm sorry."

But Alec only shook his head, staring at Jace as though he were a ghost. "For a moment . . . I really thought you were . . . I _felt_ it, Jace. Here _."_ Alec gripped his shoulder where Jace had Marked him with the _parabatai_ rune years ago.

But Alec hadn't been able to bring himself to actually say what it was he felt or what he it was he thought had happened to Jace. And Jace couldn't say it either. He could only stand there staring at his brother. While waiting on the beach of the Lake, swimming in and out of consciousness, he and Clary had decided it was for the best not to mention that Jace had actually died, but had rather been close to death. They weren't sure how the Clave would react to finding out that Jace was undead so to speak—not well, he imagined. So no one knew but them, Valentine, and the Angel. Instead they spoke of the upcoming celebration. They spoke of Magnus and the spectacle Alec had made of himself in the Accords Hall the night of the battle. At one point, Alec asked him about the silver box, but Jace only shook his head. He wasn't ready to share that yet. And Alec didn't press.

After his brief reunion with his _parabatai,_ Jace had wandered aimlessly around Alicante before coming to sit on the steps of the Accords Hall, his back pressed up against one the pillars. He remained there the rest of the day, going through the contents of the box Amatis had given him. There was an old dagger, a few photos, and a lot of journal pages and letters. Letters to Amatis from his father. Jace wasn't sure how he felt about that, given that these were written after Stephen had married Jace's mother. And it wasn't like these letters were the brief, _'Hey how's it going,'_ kind of letters. Some of them were long and personal and intimate. Had his real father ever fucking been faithful? Why would Amatis think he'd want these? Did she honestly thin that Jace would wand to read about how his father was unhappy with his real mother?

Slamming the box closed, Jace blinked. The sun had set, and around the Square Shadowhunters and Downworlders worked together to place tables and hang streamers as the first of the party goers started trickling in. They were celebrating their victory. They were celebrating the death of Valentine. Jace didn't know if he could do that. But could he refuse? Luke would have had some words of wisdom if he were here, but he wasn't.

"Moping, I see."

Jace looked up. Those hadn't quite been the words of wisdom he'd been hoping for. Magnus was standing there, his cat eyes reflecting strangely in the witchlight that was lighting the Square. He was wearing what looked like a victorian tuxedo—which oddly looked right on him. Probably because Magnus was alive during that era. Now the warlock was staring at him curiously.

"Don't worry," Magnus continued when Jace didn't say anything. "I have it on good authority that the ancestors of your family line were very good at moping."

Jace raised a brow. "And whose good authority is that?"

"Mine." Magnus smirked, his eyes falling on the silver container in Jace's lap. "That's an interesting box you have there. I particularly like the herons that have been etched into the lid. Might I inquire where you got it?"

Jace stared down at Stephen's box. "You could," he said slowly. "But the chances of me telling you are probably none."

"I see." Magnus said. And Jace got the feeling that he really did. "I knew many Herondales throughout my life," the warlock continued then. "Some I would even go on to call friends."

 _Whoopty fucking doo._ But Jace didn't say that. He said nothing. Instead he watched as the Square filled up. Shop owners were throwing open their doors as people flitted around laughing and toasting one another. "Did you know my father?" Jace asked, not looking up at the warlock. "My real father, I mean."

"I did not." Magnus said, turning to look out over the crowd as well. "I knew _of_ him, of course. But he was not one to . . . consort with Downworlders."

"Given he was my father's stooge, I suppose not." Jace mumbled. And then he flinched realizing his mistake. "I meant Valentine's stooge."

But, "I know what you meant," was all Magnus said. After another long stretch of silence, Magnus finally turned to look at Jace. "If you want to talk, Jace—if you want to learn more about the Herondales—I can help. I have . . . resources." He added mysteriously, and Jace raised a brow. "In fact, if you'd like, I can introduce—"

"Thanks, but no thanks," Jace cut him off roughly. "No offense. I just want to be alone."

Nodding, Magnus took a step back. "Of course. I'll leave you to your moping."

"I'm not moping!" Jace yelled at the retreating warlock. But if Magnus heard him, he didn't show it.

He _wasn't_ moping. Stupid warlock. Didn't Magnus understand that Jace was just . . . hiding in the shadows of the Accords Hall while a party went on around him, going through the belongings of his dead father who he never met and . . . moping. _Your fucking moping._ Dropping his head back against the pillar, he stared out over the crowd. Was Clary out there? Probably. Along with Isabelle and Alec. He should get up. He should join them. He _wanted_ to join them. And yet, he couldn't make himself get up and actually do it. Lowering his gaze, he closed the box, his thumb tracing the birds engraved into the lid.

He felt nothing for the man it belonged to. He felt like he should. Others would probably even expect him to. But he didn't. What did that say about him, he wondered? That he could not so much as draw up a single bit of emotion for the man who had been his real father, but could easily mourn the most hated man in the world. A man who had ripped his life apart. A man who couldn't even bother with giving him his own name after cutting him out of his lifeless mother.

Closing his eyes he took a breath—and heard her. Like a soft whisper. His pulse spiked before he even looked up, his heart hammering. Clary was standing there looking down at him. But . . . what was she wearing? "Clary?" He asked uncertainly, his eyes wide.

Clary smiled. "Who else would it be?"

Jace's eyes traveled down the flowing silver dress she wore as he chewed silently on the inside of his cheek. It hugged her curves in a way that sent his heart slamming and heat flooding through his limbs. Her ruby curls spilled over her shoulders in the way Jace would always love, and on her neck hung the Morgenstern ring he had left her. The last time he'd seen her in a dress, it was for Magnus's party. He had been speechless then, too, but this was different somehow. Like she wasn't real. A ghost sent to torment him. He swallowed hard. "You don't look like you."

"It's the dress," she said with a frown. She ran her hands down the material as though second guessing her decision to wear it. "I don't usually wear things this . . . pretty."

"You always look beautiful," Jace said softly, because it was true. And his heart ached at how far away she stood. "But you look—distant. Like I couldn't touch you."

At his words, Clary gathered up the skirt of her dress and came to sit next to him. Jace's chest tightened at her closeness. Even through his jacket he could feel the warmth coming off her. Silently, she held out her hand, her fingers trembling as if she were cold. Or nervous. "Touch me," she said, her Idris eyes shining in the witchlight. And then she blushed, the warmth rushing through her cheeks sending his heart skittering. "If you want to," she amended.

If he _wanted_ to? Was she serious? All he had ever wanted to do was touch her. To hold her. To be allowed to love her in all the ways he possibly could. Lacing his fingers through hers, he reveled in the electric currant that shot up his arm at her touch before lifting her hand to his cheek. He was allowed to do this now. He could touch her and love her and—his eyes met hers. She was watching him silently. But did she still want him? After everything he had put her through . . . everything _Valentine_ had put her through. Slowly he lowered her hand, placing it gently in her lap before retracting his arm.

"What's in the box?" She asked after a moment, her voice strangely causal. Or maybe it wasn't so strange. He couldn't tell. _Stop reading into it so much!_ Jace looked down at the silver box that he still held in his lap. It seemed so personal. And yet . . . this was Clary. There was nothing he would ever keep from her. Not her. He took a breath.

"I went to Amatis's earlier today, looking for you," he said quietly. "But you weren't there. So I talked to Amatis. She gave me this." He gestured at the box. "It belonged to my father."

Meeting her eyes, he saw the confusion in them—in the furrow of her brows. And he realized that she thought he was talking about Valentine. Even she still thought of him as Jace's father. Somehow, in a way he couldn't understand, it made him feel better. It was like knowing he wasn't alone. But the confusion was short lived as her mouth popped open. "Of course," she said softly with realization. "Amatis was married to Stephen Herondale."

Jace nodded. "I've been going through it. Reading the letters, the journal pages. I thought if I did that, I might feel some sort of connection to him. Something that would leap off the pages at me, saying, _Yes, this is your father_." Jace sighed with frustration. "But I don't feel anything. Just bits of paper. Anyone could have written these things."

"Jace," Clary said gently, her Idris eyes shining.

And Jace bit down hard on his cheek at hearing his name on her lips. So soft and tender. He would never grow tired of it. But then . . . that wasn't his name, was it? Not really. Those initials had never belonged to him. "And that's another thing," he said, staring out at the Square. "I don't have a name anymore, do I? I'm not Jonathan Christopher—that was someone else. But it's the name I'm used to."

"Who came up with Jace as a nickname?" Clary asked curiously, her emerald eyes searching his face. Jace thought about reaching up and touching her cheek. "Did you come up with it yourself?"

"No," he shook his head. "Valentine always called me Jonathan. And that's what they called me when I first got to the Institute. I was never supposed to think my name was Jonathan Christopher, you know—that was an accident. I got the name out of my father's journal—" _and I had been beaten severely for it,_ "—but it wasn't me he was talking about. It wasn't my progress he was recording. It was Seb—It was Jonathan's." Jace wondered if he would ever get used to calling the boy that. Probably not. Reaching up, his arm grazed Clary's as he raked his fingers through his hair. "So the first time I ever told Maryse that my middle name was Christopher, she told herself that she'd just remembered it wrong, and Christopher had been Michael's son's middle name. It had been ten years, after all. But that was when she started calling me Jace." Despite himself, Jace smiled at the memory, letting out a breath of laughter. "It was like she wanted to give me a new name, something that belonged to her, to my life in New York. And I liked it. I'd never liked Jonathan." Looking down, he turned the box over in his hands. Stephen may have been his real father and Celine is real mother, but . . . "I wonder if maybe Maryse knew, or guessed, but just didn't want to know. She loved me . . . and she didn't want to believe it."

"Which was why she was so upset when she found out you _were_ Valentine's son." Clary said softly. "Because she thought she ought to have known." And then she shrugged. "She kind of _did_ know. But we never do want to believe things like that about people we love. And Jace," she turned toward him, her Idris eyes capturing his golden ones. He couldn't have looked away if he wanted to. And he didn't want to. "She was right about you. She was right about who you really are. And you _do_ have a name. Your name is Jace. Valentine didn't give that name to you. Maryse did. The only thing that makes a name important, and yours, is that it's given to you by someone who loves you."

Jace took a steadying breath. Clary was right, of course. Valentine had hated the name Jace. But then, Valentine hadn't chosen it. Maryse did—his mother. He hadn't thought of it like that before. _God, I love you._ Only Clary could calm him and make him see sense like this. He didn't deserve her, but he would try. _Jace._ _My name is Jace_ . . . Wayland? He frowned. Morgenstern? _Fuck that._ But then . . .

"Jace what?" He asked, looking down at the herons engraved on the box. "Jace Herondale?"

"Oh please," Clary said as though the answer was obvious. "You're Jace _Lightwood._ You know that." At that, Jace raised his eyes, looking up at her through his lashes. It was such a simple answer. And she was so beautiful. Clary smiled. "Maybe you're a different person than you thought you were," she continued when he didn't say anything. "But no one becomes a totally different person overnight. Just finding out that Stephen was your biological father isn't going to automatically make you love him. And you don't have to. Valentine wasn't your real father, but not because you don't have his blood in your veins. He wasn't your real father because he didn't _act_ like a father. He didn't take care of you. It's always been the Lightwoods who have taken care of you. _They're_ you're family. Just like Mom and Luke are mine."

And Jace took a breath. She was right that he didn't have Valentine's blood as he had thought. But she was also wrong. Valentine _had_ taken care of him—had done it for ten years. _Not that he had been very good at it,_ Jace thought flatly. There had been so much . . . _abuse._ The word was a hard one to admit. He had always told himself that what his father had done to him growing up was okay because both the emotional and physical beatings had been necessary to teach him discipline. But it wasn't necessary. He knew that now. And it _wasn't_ okay. That's what the Lightwoods had taught him. That it was okay to cry. It was okay to love.

"I'm sorry," Clary said after awhile. "Here I am lecturing you, and you probably came up here to be alone."

Chewing thoughtfully on his cheek, Jace thought of Maryse—how she had looked when Jace woke up in the hospital bed. Even asleep, she had looked exhausted. She had looked like a mother who had been worried sick about her son. _He_ was her son. "You're right," he said.

Next to him, Clary exhaled. "All right then," she said getting to her feet, nearly tripping on her dress in the process. And Jace's brow furrowed. What was she doing? "I'll go."

She was going? Why was she—? _Son of a bitch._ "Clary!" Setting the box down, Jace scrambled hastily to his feet. "Clary, wait. That wasn't what I meant! I didn't mean I wanted to be alone. I meant you were right about Valentine—about the Lightwoods—"

Turning, she looked up at him—studying him, and he felt his pulse quicken. The lights from the celebration were dancing deliciously across her dress and skin while the witchlight from the nearby lamppost created a halo around her. She was his own personal angel. Her Idris eyes were difficult to read, but he hoped desperately that she could read _his_. That she could see how much he wanted her to stay. How much he needed her . . .

"You know," she said after a moment, her head listing to the side. "Aline said maybe you wouldn't be interested anymore. Now that it _isn't_ forbidden. Now that you could be with me if you wanted to." And Jace felt his body convulse, his eyes going wide. That was the most absurd thing he had ever heard! Was she actually suggesting that . . . did she actually _believe_ that?! As if hearing his thoughts, Clary wrapped her arms around herself. "Is that true?" She asked, her voice cracking slightly. It was enough to rip his heart apart. "Are you not . . . interested?"

 _"Interested?"_ Jace choked out, the word leaving a bad taste in his mouth. _Interested?_ The very word was an insult when it came to how he felt about Clary. "As if you were a—a book, or a piece of news?" Jace shook his head hard. "No, I'm not _interested_. I'm—" _so completely and forever in love with you._ But it was more than that. It was that he only felt whole when she was with him. He only felt calm when she was near him and . . . _and oh god, she's staring at you. Say something!_ Biting his cheek, Jace took a breath. "Do you remember what I said to you before? About feeling like the fact that you were my sister was some sort of cosmic joke on me? On both of us?"

"I remember."

"I never believed it," he said. And then he shook his head. No, that wasn't right. "I mean, I believed it in a way—I let it drive me to despair, but I never _felt_ it. Never felt you were my sister. Because I didn't feel about you the way you're supposed to feel about your sister. But that didn't mean I didn't feel like you were apart of me. I've always felt that . . ."

He trailed off at seeing the look of bewilderment Clary was giving him. _What did you expect, dumbass. You're talking about her being your sister!_ "I'm not saying this right," he growled with frustration, pushing his hair roughly out of his face. Capturing her eyes, he took a step forward. And yet, there was still too much space between them. Always too much space. "Clary, I hated every second that I thought you were my sister," he said, the words falling from his mouth quickly. "I hated every moment that I thought what I felt for you meant there was something wrong with me. But—"

"But _what?"_ Clary breathed, her voice pleading.

He wanted so badly to touch her. To hold her. It took everything he had not to. "I could see the delight Valentine took in the way I felt about you. The way you felt about me. He used it as a weapon against us. And that made me hate him. More than anything else he'd ever done to me, that made me hate him, and it turned me against him, and maybe that's what I needed to do. Because there were times I didn't know if I wanted to follow him or not. It was a hard choice—harder than I like to remember."

Reaching up, Clary tugged absently at one of her curls as she looked at Jace. From where he stood, he could see the goosebumps that ran across her shoulders and down her arms. "I asked you if I had a choice once," she said, her emerald eyes shining. "And you said, 'We all have choices.'" Jace swallowed. He remembered that conversation. "You chose against Valentine," Clary continued. "In the end that was the choice you made, and it doesn't matter how hard it was to make it. It matters that you did."

"I know," Jace said quietly, dropping his hands to his side. "I'm just saying that I think I chose the way I did in part because of you." And the ghost of a smile swept across his lips. "Since I've met you, everything I've done has been in part because of you. I can't untie myself from you Clary—not my heart or my blood or my mind or any other part of me. And I don't want to."

"You don't?" She breathed, her lips quivering.

Jace took another step forward, his eyes never leaving her face. His heart was pounding rapidly and yet he felt calm. He felt . . . right. "I always thought love made you stupid. Made you weak—" Another step. "—a bad Shadowhunter. _To love is to destroy._ I _believed_ that." Looking up at him, she bit her lip and Jace felt warmth flood his body. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted so badly to take her in his arms. It was torture not to. But he had to make sure she understood. "I used to think being a good warrior meant not caring," he went on. "About anything, myself especially. I took every risk I could. I flung myself in the path of demons. I think I gave Alec a complex about what kind of fighter he was, just because he wanted to live." He leaned forward, his eyes devouring her. And Clary sucked in a breath, her breast hitching. Dazed, Jace smiled unevenly. _Keep it together._ "And then I met you," he said. "You were a mundane. Weak. Not a fighter. Never trained. And then I saw how much you loved your mother, loved Simon, and how you'd walk into hell to save them. You _did_ walk into that vampire hotel. Shadowhunters with a decade of experience wouldn't have tried that. Love didn't make you weak, it made you stronger than anyone I'd ever met. And I realized I was the one who was weak."

Clary's eyes widened, her lips popping open into a perfect 'o' as she shook her head. _"No,"_ she said adamantly. "You're not."

"Maybe not anymore," he conceded, taking one more step forward. He still couldn't bring himself to look away. He was so completely lost in her eyes. But he didn't care. They were home to him. They would always be home. She was only inches from him, now. He could so easily touch her. "Valentine couldn't believe I'd killed Jonathan," he whispered. "Couldn't believe it because I was the weak one, and Jonathan was the one with more training. By all rights, he should have killed me. He nearly did. But I thought of you—I saw you there, watching me, and I knew I wanted to live. Wanted it more than I'd ever wanted anything, if only so that I could see your face one more time." Jace let out a breath, his whole body a live wire. He could see his face reflected in Clary's eyes—could see that his pupils were blown wide, his lips parted. But more than anything he just saw Clary. The woman he would burn down the world for if she asked him to. He swallowed.

"And now I'm looking at you," he breathed, his voice low. "And you're asking me if I still want you, as if I could stop loving you. As if I would want to give up the thing that makes me stronger than anything else ever has. I never dared give much of myself to anyone before—bits of myself to the Lightwoods, to Isabelle and Alec, but it took years to do it—but, Clary, since the first time I saw you, I have belonged to you completely. I still do. If you want me."

Clary blinked, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. _Don't cry, Clary. Please._ Reaching forward, he traced a finger along her cheek. He loved her. He loved her more than he could ever say. Though he had tried. He really had. And then she was grabbing him, pulling him to her as her mouth brushed along his jaw. A move that elicited a groan from him as it nearly undid him. She still wanted him. After everything . . . she _still_ wanted him. Wrapping his arms around her, Jace practically crushed Clary against him in his desire to be closer to her, lifting her to her toes as their mouths crashed together. They were breathing each other in. His heart was hammering as they both gasped, but neither letting the other go. Parting her lips with his, he explored the inside of her mouth as her hands pushed his jacket open, her fingers sweeping across his chest. _I love you,_ he wanted to say. But he couldn't. This time, however, it wasn't because he wasn't allowed to. This time it was because his mouth was a little busy.

Slowly, he let go of her and took an uneven step backward just as Clary gasped in a breath. He nearly laughed. His body was buzzing. Taking her face in his hands, he traced his thumb across her cheekbone. "There," he said with a grin. "That wasn't so bad, was it, even though it wasn't forbidden?"

Clary gave a shaky laugh, her pupils blown wide as she looked up at him. "I've had worse."

Jace bit the inside of his cheek. "You know," he said slowly as he leaned in to brush his lips across her mouth. "If it's the lack of the _forbidden_ you're worried about, you could still forbid me to do things."

"What kind of things?" Clary asked breathlessly against his lips.

And Jace smiled. "Things like this."

.

It was some time before they came down the steps of the Accords Hall, and Jace was on cloud nine. Clary's hand was held tightly in his, and every once in awhile he would catch her peeking up at him from beneath her lashes. He grinned stupidly every time. As they approached their friends and family, Jace saw that they were all there. Magnus and Alec, Isabelle and Simon and Maia—Simon looking between the two girls like he had no clue what he was doing. He probably didn't. Spinning, around Isabelle's eyes fell on Clary and Jace and her face lit up.

"You're here!" She cried out, dancing up to them and thrusting a flute of bubbling liquid she had been holding into Clary's free hand. "Have some of this!" Jace noticed that Izzy didn't give the fact that he and Clary were holding hands a second glance. And he smiled as Clary eyed the fuchsia liquid suspiciously.

"Is it it going to turn me into a rodent?" She asked, lifting her eyes to Isabelle.

"Where is the trust?" Isabelle asked as though offended, though her grin said otherwise. And then she shrugged. "I think it's strawberry juice. Anyway, it's yummy. Jace?" She said, turning to her brother and offering him the glass when Clary declined.

Taking on a look of mock indignation, Jace puffed out his chest. "I am a man," he announced loudly. "And men do not consume pink beverages. Get thee gone, woman, and bring me something brown." Next to him, Clary squeezed his hand, laugh silently.

Izzy made a face. "Brown?"

"Brown is a manly color," Jace said simply. Reaching forward with his free hand, he tugged on a lock of his sisters raven hair affectionately. "In fact, look—" he said, his eyes slipping past her. "Alec is wearing it."

Alec, who had been watching them, turned his gaze dejectedly down to his sweater. "It _was_ black," he sighed. "But then it faded."

 _Oh._ That's even worse than Jace had originally thought. He wondered if Alec would consider burning it. Magnus on the other hand, grinned up at Alec like he lit up the world. Peeking at Clary, Jace knew exactly how the warlock felt. "You could dress it up with a sequined headband," Magnus offered, pulling something blue and sparkly out of seemingly no where. "Just a thought."

"Resist the urge, Alec," Simon called from the wall he sat on with Maia and Aline. "You'll look like Olivia Newton-John in _Xanadu._ "

Jace laughed. He didn't know what the hell the vampire was talking about, but whatever it was, sounded about as good as Alec would probably look in a sparkly head band. Magnus only shrugged, however. "There are worse things." And then he turned back to his boyfriend, capturing his attention and Jace smiled. Alec looked happy. And not just happy, but . . . like the weight of the world had left his shoulders. Squeezing Clary's hand, Jace grinned down at her. He was glad he was here—that he had agreed to come down. Granted . . .

He thought of the way he had pressed Clary against the pillar, his body pushing against hers as hers eyes danced wickedly up at him, and asking if she wanted to forbid him from doing that.

For the record, she said no . . .

Heat coursed through his body at the memory. Okay, maybe he was _mostly_ glad they had come down. Biting his cheek, Jace watched as Simon hopped off the wall and walked over to them. His hands were stuffed in his pockets as he came to a stop, regarding Clary carefully.

"You look happy," he told her softly, before turning his eyes up to Jace. "And a good thing for you that she does."

Jace raised a brow. "Is this the part where you tell me that if I hurt her, you'll kill me?" _Because I would kill myself before I ever hurt her._

But Simon only shook his head. "No," he said. "If you hurt Clary, she's quite capable of killing you herself. Possibly with a variety of weapons."

And Jace smiled. Oh, he knew she was _very_ capable. And he found himself thinking about how she had thrown herself at him in her anger at Amatis's house. It had been hot. _Not_ that he had supposed to be thinking that at the time . . . but what could ya do?

"Look," Simon continued, pulling Jace away from his sexy memories of flying plates and fists. "I just wanted to say that it's okay if you dislike me. If you make Clary happy, I'm fine with you." And he stuck out his hand. Jace blinked, an amused smile playing on his lips before taking out his own hand and shaking Simon's. Huh. Things really were changing. _Well, might as well be honest . . ._

"I don't dislike you," he said, lowering his hand and watching the skepticism that crossed the vampire's face. "In fact, because I actually _do_ like you, I'm going to offer you some advice."

Simon looked at Clary unsure before turning his cautious gaze back up to Jace. "Advice?"

"I see that you are working this vampire angle with some success," Jace said nodding toward where Maia and Isabelle stood with his chin. "And kudos," he added. He really meant that. He was surprised the vampire had it in him. But then . . . Simon had changed right along with the rest of them. He was no longer the insecure, jealous, and scared rat boy he had first me. Simon had been forced to grow into his own, and had accepted the challenge head on. "Lot's of girls love that sensitive-undead thing," Jace continued. "But I'd drop the whole musician angle if I were you. Vampire rock stars are played out, and besides," Jace grinned innocently, "You can't possibly be very good."

Simon shook his head. "I don't suppose there's any chance you could reconsider the part where you didn't like me?" He sighed and Jace flashed an angelic smile. _Nope! I'm going to be your new best friend._

Next to him, Clary rolled her eyes. "Enough, both of you," she snapped. "You can't be complete jerks to each other forever, you know."

"Technically," Simon began logically, "I can."

And Jace had to fight hard to keep from laughing and failed. But it wasn't just that he failed . . . he failed miserably. And his suppressed laughter came out sounding like a pig being butchered. Clary was looking up at him surprised, if not a little terrified—which admittedly only made him laugh harder. Shaking his head, he stopped trying to fight it.

Simon grinned. "Got you."

"Well," Clary beamed. "This _is_ a beautiful moment."

It was a moment, Jace agreed. Though he wasn't sure about it being beautiful. It was a start, however. Turning, he looked over at Alec and Magnus again. Alec had his arm wrapped around the warlock's shoulder and was whispering in his ear. Nearby, Isabelle had captured Simon's attention, twisting her hair around her finger. And Maia and Aline sat on the wall, deep in conversation. It was definitely a start.

He had just been about to lead Clary over to the wall to sit when she pressed purposefully against his side. "I'll be right back," she whispered, and Jace looked down at her confused.

"Is everything okay?" He asked as he let go of her hand. He felt like he was letting go of a piece of himself.

Clary smiled. "Yeah. I just have to go talk to someone."

Jace watched her, his eyes searching her's. "Want me to come?"

"No," she smiled. "Thank you though. I really will be right back."

And he watched her go until she disappeared between two large werewolves. Sighing, Jace ran his fingers through his hair. Slowly, he made his way over to the wall and sat on it.

"Hey, Jace." It was Aline, looking across Maia at him.

And Jace smiled as he looked over at the Penhallow girl. She was wearing a red dress that made her hair look even more shockingly black than it already was. They had been through quite a lot these past few days, hadn't they? Not to mention their failed attempt at being in a relationship. Not that Jace thought it would have ever worked out. And yet . . . she didn't look all that put out by it. Either way, he was just glad they were all talking again. "Hey, Aline. How are you?"

Looking out at the people around her, she smiled. "Much better now," she said. "And you?"

Jace nodded. "Much better."

Aline cocked her head, studying him, but all she said was, "You look it." Turning back to Maia, they began talking again, leaving Jace to his thoughts. Not that he was left with them long. Alec came over a moment later, leaning against the wall.

"How are you doing?" Alec asked, crossing his arms.

"Well, I'm not awesome enough to be dating a warlock . . . but I can't complain," Jace grinned.

Alec smiled, refusing to be baited. "So you and Clary?" He said instead. "She was holding your hand when you guys walked up, so I'm guessing she's not completely repulsed by you then?"

"Repulsed? Why would she be repulsed?" Jace asked in an injured tone. "I've been known to be a lot of things, but repulsive has never been one. I'm beautiful!"

"Shut up," Alec said flatly, thought he was smiling. "Look, all I'm saying is, I'm happy for you guys. You are one of the best people I know, Jace . . . you deserve to be happy." And Jace smiled. He couldn't help it. This—all of this—it still felt like a dream. Like it was too good to be true.

"Thanks, Alec." Jace said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Um. Is Magnus wearing that headband?"

Alec followed Jace's gaze and scrunched his face up. "Yeah," he nodded. "Yeah he is."

After that, Jace watched as the people he loved laughed and joked with one another, even joining in at times. He watched as Izzy snuck some champagne, her cheeks growing redder and redder; and he laughed as Magnus conjured up a matching headband and put it on his boyfriend. Alec had quickly pulled it off. And when Robert and Maryse showed up, Jace hugged his adopted mother just a little bit longer and a little bit tighter than he ever had before. She was beaming when he let her go, a tear slipping down her face that she immediately wiped away. And then she was laughing, throwing her arm around Alec as Robert shook Magnus's hand. Jace noticed that Magnus had quickly removed his headband. And yet, even with as much fun as he was having, he still felt as though he was missing something. And he knew exactly what it was. Or rather, who. Clary hadn't even been gone that long, and yet it felt like it had been hours. Looking across the crowd he caught sight of her talking to her her mom and Luke. Luke had his arm around Jocelyn, and he was absolutely beaming. A moment later, Luke leaned over and planted a kiss on Jocelyn's head before she walked away, leaving the wolf leader and Clary alone. So Luke had finally gotten the girl he had been in love with forever. Good for him, Jace thought sincerely. He was a good man and deserved a good woman. And Jace knew that Jocelyn had to be a good woman, because she had raised the most amazing woman Jace had ever met. As if hearing his thoughts, Luke looked up and met Jace's eyes across the Square. Knowing Luke, he may very well _have_ heard Jace's thoughts. The wolf leader always seemed to know what he was thinking. With an amused grin, Jace nodded at him. Luke nodded back.

"Clary!" Isabelle shouted suddenly and several people turned to look at her. If Izzy noticed she didn't care. She was pointing at the sky. "Fireworks."

Turning back to Luke, Jace watched as Clary hit him playfully on the shoulder before making her way back towards them. And the closer she got, the more whole he felt. Stopping in front of Jace, she looked up at the night sky.

"I don't see any fireworks," she said with a playful scowl. Which was weird, cause when Jace looked at her, all he saw was fireworks.

"Patience grasshopper," Maia said smiling. "Good thing's come to those who wait."

Simon, who had taken a seat next to the wolf girl, slapped his forehead. "I thought that was, 'Good things come to those who do the wave,'" he said. "No wonder I've been so confused all my life."

"'Confused' is a nice word for it," Jace said absently. He still couldn't take his eyes off Clary. She was his, he was hers, and everyone knew it now. Reaching forward, he took Clary's wrist gently in his fingers and pulled her to him. She came willingly. Leaning back against him, his legs on either side of her, Clary laid her head against his shoulder as Jace wrapped his arms around her stomach, his lips brushing her ear. "Where did you go?" He asked quietly.

"The Seelie Queen wanted me to do her a favor," she said with a shrug. "And she wanted to do me a favor in return." Was she kidding? Jace's arms tightened around her. Leaning back slightly, Jace looked at Clary. A favor from the Seelie Queen was a double edged blade. She had to know that— "Relax," Clary said, seeing his alarm. "I told her no."

Jace swallowed. "Not many people would turn down a favor from the Seelie Queen." But then again, most people weren't Clary. And Jace was thankful for this.

"I told her I didn't need a favor," Clary said, laying her head back against Jace's shoulder again. "I told her I had everything I wanted."

And Jace laughed softly. He could only imagine that the Queen wasn't pleased with Clary's refusal. Good. She had played with them like her own personal toys. Had tricked Clary—tricked them all. It would be all too soon if Jace ever had to see her again. Sighing, Jace traced his fingers up Clary's arm and across her collarbone where the Morgenstern ring hung on a chain.

He hadn't been surprised to see her wearing it. It was her birthright, after all. It had never been Jace's. No matter how he spun it, it had always been a lie. And truth be told, he was glad Clary had it. That she had kept it. It was a reminder of all they had been through. All they had fought against to be where they were now.

Turning his eyes to the sky, Jace's arms tightened around Clary, his chin resting on her shoulder as a rocket was sent shooting into the night. "Clary," he breathed. "Look."

The rocket exploded, lighting up the sky. And Clary watched, dazzled by the show. But Jace had missed it. He was watching Clary. He watched as the fireworks lit up her eyes. His heart pounded as she smiled with delight and cheered with the crowd. Turning he looked at his family and friends. Magnus was snuggled against Alec, Simon sitting awkwardly between Maia and Isabelle, Maryse and Robert sitting at a table. Across the square, Jocelyn was standing against Luke in an almost mirror image of Jace and Clary. Smiling, he pressed his lips against Clary's neck, which caused her to giggle and turn away. Jace's heart exploded.

And he knew then that he would never let her go. That this moment right here, with her in his arms—surrounded by his family and friends—was exactly where he would always want to be.

* * *

 _ **AN:** So here it is. The end of book three! And holy shit. I cannot believe I made it! I want to give you all a HUGE thank you. Thank you for reading it. Thank you for being patient. Thank you for supporting me. Seriously, just . . . thank you! I cannot express my gratitude enough. You all rock._

 _And as always . . . **Please Review**_


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